"The thing I remember most about you is that you always had dignity."
As compliments go, this one seems like a pretty high one. Especially when you consider that the person remembering this about me hasn't seen me since shortly after my 21st birthday, which is, strictly speaking, two decades ago.
Apparently, Joe was in a nostalgic frame of mind when he started typing old college friends' names into Google. (He either has a great memory about spelling, or some accurate source that helped him correctly spell my surname.) A year behind me at Allegheny College, Joe transferred out during my senior year, and as far as my middle-aged self can recall, we haven't been in touch since November 1987. What a great surprise, and welcome distraction, to receive his email when I came in to office on October 18th, the day after the one-year anniversary of my mother's death.
It's amazing to me that a full year has passed already. Thanks to the prayers and sensitivity of many good friends, the milestone wasn't nearly as painful as I expected it might be. A huge arrangement of mums left with a card on my front porch that day moved me to tears; I had no idea that Bryan and Sarah had remembered, and I was so touched by their thoughtfulness. Gestures like that, time with my dad, brother and niece, and a busy schedule helped me to move through the anniversaries of her death, her funeral, and what would have been her 66th birthday (October 24) with relative ease. God is good.
Another distraction has been the new addition to my household: Charlotte the kitten, rescued at age four months (ish) and delivered to me all the way from Philadelphia by Dr. Meredith, my cousin the veterinarian. Be careful what you say while lounging on the beach. Thanks to a casual mention back in July, when were in the Outer Banks together, that I'd been thinking about adopting a cat, I received an email about a month later with news of a little gray tiger-striped tabby kitten in need of a good home. As I type, my affectionate little companion is stretched out next to me on the couch, purring away.
It's been a full several weeks since my last blog entry. In September, I cashed in my 2006 Christmas gift from my dad: an amazing two-week vacation and visit with friends in Ireland, where I also got to celebrate my 41st birthday. It was a reunion of college roommates, as Myrna and I traveled over to visit with Christine, Brian, and their two beautiful children.
Two weeks later, I was privileged to celebrate my dear friend Hank's wedding to Renee, and to serve communion during the worship service. It was an amazing celebration, a wonderful reunion with many old friends, and a privilege to be the one to serve the body of Christ to the bride, the groom, and their two sons, from Renee's first marriage.
So, all in all, life is good. Joe is hoping to travel to western Pennsylvania sometime in the not-too-distant future from his home in northern New Jersey, to visit the city of his birth and reconnect with old friends. Pitt basketball season is about to start (woohoo!), and I am enjoying my favorite season of them all: the autumn leaves are just reaching their peak.
Thanks to those of you who faithfully check in here from time to time, in spite of my abysmal writing record of late. I'll try to do better.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
Return to the Outer Banks
It's mid-August already. I seem to recall promising more reflections on Reunion Season. So many thoughts, so scattered.
It started with the campus ministry/Gannon reunion in Erie back in June, which I've already covered.
It continued in July with the Return to the Outer Banks. The first vacation since losing Mom was a good one, largely because of the comfort of being with family, both immediate and extended. There were more than 40 of us gathered at the Cavalier Motel, which for better or worse is little changed since our first excursion there circa 1975. I think the euphemistic terminology would be "vintage." New carpeting, pleather furniture and new bedspreads were the most obvious physical improvements. The beloved wooden Adirondack chairs have been replaced by plastic ones, largely due to wood-rot, I'm told.
Sigh.
My immediate family hadn't joined in the annual beach reunion since 1999, by our best guestimates: the Year of the Sea Lice. It was a particularly hot, breezeless week at the beach, and the ocean was unswimmable due to the biting baby jellyfish. Good times. Mom declared emphatically that this was it for her...we could all return if we wanted to, but she was done with beach vacations. Oddly, my memory of that declaration made it more bearable to me that we were there without her, for the first time.
As we sat pool-side one breezy evening, my cousin Tom commented, "We grew up here together, didn't we?" I was just shy of nine years old in 1975, the first year we went down to Kill Devil Hills for the week. Given the number of times I've moved over the past 40 years, it's safe to say that the Cavalier is as steady a geographical touchpoint as any for me. And long absences between visits make it that much more remarkable to watch the cousins with whom I played and hung out through so many summers now build sandcastles and body-surf with their kids, some of whom are already older than I was that first summer.
Part three of Reunion Season would be the almost-annual Chautauqua gathering in August: a reunion of college/campus ministry friends. That account will have to wait for another time, but I'll do what I can to make it sooner than later. Really.
Meanwhile, I've been enjoying lots of mini-reunions throughout the summer. An overnight visit with Ann and Patrick in Virginia on my way to the beach. A spontaneous day-long rendezvous in Erie with Renee the last Saturday in July. Dinner and ice cream with Jeff, a good friend from Allegheny days, as he passed through town a couple weeks ago. And now I'm looking forward to a reunion with Katie, Dan and family tomorrow. Kate was at the Gannon gathering in June with two of her three little ones. Tomorrow, the whole family travels from Cleveland to Pittsburgh to spend the day at the zoo, followed by dinner with Amy.
Long live reunions!
It started with the campus ministry/Gannon reunion in Erie back in June, which I've already covered.
It continued in July with the Return to the Outer Banks. The first vacation since losing Mom was a good one, largely because of the comfort of being with family, both immediate and extended. There were more than 40 of us gathered at the Cavalier Motel, which for better or worse is little changed since our first excursion there circa 1975. I think the euphemistic terminology would be "vintage." New carpeting, pleather furniture and new bedspreads were the most obvious physical improvements. The beloved wooden Adirondack chairs have been replaced by plastic ones, largely due to wood-rot, I'm told.
Sigh.
My immediate family hadn't joined in the annual beach reunion since 1999, by our best guestimates: the Year of the Sea Lice. It was a particularly hot, breezeless week at the beach, and the ocean was unswimmable due to the biting baby jellyfish. Good times. Mom declared emphatically that this was it for her...we could all return if we wanted to, but she was done with beach vacations. Oddly, my memory of that declaration made it more bearable to me that we were there without her, for the first time.
As we sat pool-side one breezy evening, my cousin Tom commented, "We grew up here together, didn't we?" I was just shy of nine years old in 1975, the first year we went down to Kill Devil Hills for the week. Given the number of times I've moved over the past 40 years, it's safe to say that the Cavalier is as steady a geographical touchpoint as any for me. And long absences between visits make it that much more remarkable to watch the cousins with whom I played and hung out through so many summers now build sandcastles and body-surf with their kids, some of whom are already older than I was that first summer.
Part three of Reunion Season would be the almost-annual Chautauqua gathering in August: a reunion of college/campus ministry friends. That account will have to wait for another time, but I'll do what I can to make it sooner than later. Really.
Meanwhile, I've been enjoying lots of mini-reunions throughout the summer. An overnight visit with Ann and Patrick in Virginia on my way to the beach. A spontaneous day-long rendezvous in Erie with Renee the last Saturday in July. Dinner and ice cream with Jeff, a good friend from Allegheny days, as he passed through town a couple weeks ago. And now I'm looking forward to a reunion with Katie, Dan and family tomorrow. Kate was at the Gannon gathering in June with two of her three little ones. Tomorrow, the whole family travels from Cleveland to Pittsburgh to spend the day at the zoo, followed by dinner with Amy.
Long live reunions!
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Taylor the Latte Boy
Here is Kristin Chenoweth from an appearance on The Rosie O'Donnell Show a few years ago. I'm posting it here because it makes me happy. Enjoy!
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Reunions
This seems to be the season for them.
This past weekend, I was in Erie, reconnecting with people from what feels like another lifetime. This coming weekend, I'll drive south, to the Outer Banks of North Carolina, to spend a week at the beach with my dad, my brother, my niece, and uncles, aunts and cousins I've known all my life — but hardly know at all in some ways.
I'll save the Nag's Head reflections for later — after I've been back at the vacation spot of my childhood and teen years and taken inventory of how it and I have changed over the past (gulp) 30 years or so.
For now, let's return to Erie.
On Sunday morning, I drove north from Pittsburgh on I-79, not stopping until after the highway did. I arrived at Gannon's Chapel at the corner of Peach and 5th just before mass started at noon, and when I walked inside, I was greeted by former colleagues, long-ago graduated students who were involved in campus ministry back in the day, and even a former boyfriend and his wife and three beautiful children.
"Back in the day" would be circa 1989-93, which were my years as the Protestant Campus Minister at this Roman Catholic diocesan university along the shores of Lake Erie.
I lived in Erie for four years, and they were years of profound self-discovery, growth and humility for me. I was a year out of college when I moved into the Kirk House to do campus ministry at Gannon University. When I moved to Pittsburgh in 1993, I was as a changed person as when I'd graduated from college five years earlier, but the changes were more challenging in many ways the ones I'd undergone as a student. It was a good experience for me to be at Gannon. I was a minority there. I had to figure out how to work as an employee of an evangelical college ministry para-church organization in cooperation with a mainline Presbyterian church, with students and staff at a Roman Catholic institution.
There's too much to write about all of that— far more than I have time or space to articulate at the moment. Suffice to say, I don't like change as a rule, but I recognize it as necessary, and even desirable — especially when it's over and done and I can look back fondly and forget the pain that came in the midst of the process.
Back to reunions.
I got to watch the giggly freshmen and sophomores I knew all those years ago shepherd their children between the picnic tables, bathhouse and beach (that is, Beach 11 at Presque Isle State Park). As I commented to Katie, the mommies they've become are so intricately connected to the essence of their college student personas. There was a comforting continuity and recognition in seeing their humor and care expressed to their offspring, much as it was to each other when they were just figuring out who they are. And these children are delightful, and blessed to have such loving, caring, faith-filled parents.
Sheryl and TG have both reflected on the day's events beautifully on their own blogs. (TG — you certainly DO rock the orange flip-flops!) It was a gift to see students who have become friends, but who live too far away to make regular contact probable. Some of them, I've seen as recently as two weeks or six years ago. Others, not since they graduated 15 years ago. Most drove in from such far-flung locations as Pittsburgh, Cleveland and Buffalo — the Erie Triangle. Sheryl trekked all the way north from Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
As always after a reunion like this, I am grateful for the gift of time and space to reconnect with people who were once-upon-a-time so integral to my daily life, and who have, whether they know it or not, contributed to making me the person I am today. I'm already looking forward to next year's reunion, and to reconnecting with those who weren't able to make it this year.
Reunion Season continues...
This past weekend, I was in Erie, reconnecting with people from what feels like another lifetime. This coming weekend, I'll drive south, to the Outer Banks of North Carolina, to spend a week at the beach with my dad, my brother, my niece, and uncles, aunts and cousins I've known all my life — but hardly know at all in some ways.
I'll save the Nag's Head reflections for later — after I've been back at the vacation spot of my childhood and teen years and taken inventory of how it and I have changed over the past (gulp) 30 years or so.
For now, let's return to Erie.
On Sunday morning, I drove north from Pittsburgh on I-79, not stopping until after the highway did. I arrived at Gannon's Chapel at the corner of Peach and 5th just before mass started at noon, and when I walked inside, I was greeted by former colleagues, long-ago graduated students who were involved in campus ministry back in the day, and even a former boyfriend and his wife and three beautiful children.
"Back in the day" would be circa 1989-93, which were my years as the Protestant Campus Minister at this Roman Catholic diocesan university along the shores of Lake Erie.
I lived in Erie for four years, and they were years of profound self-discovery, growth and humility for me. I was a year out of college when I moved into the Kirk House to do campus ministry at Gannon University. When I moved to Pittsburgh in 1993, I was as a changed person as when I'd graduated from college five years earlier, but the changes were more challenging in many ways the ones I'd undergone as a student. It was a good experience for me to be at Gannon. I was a minority there. I had to figure out how to work as an employee of an evangelical college ministry para-church organization in cooperation with a mainline Presbyterian church, with students and staff at a Roman Catholic institution.
There's too much to write about all of that— far more than I have time or space to articulate at the moment. Suffice to say, I don't like change as a rule, but I recognize it as necessary, and even desirable — especially when it's over and done and I can look back fondly and forget the pain that came in the midst of the process.
Back to reunions.
I got to watch the giggly freshmen and sophomores I knew all those years ago shepherd their children between the picnic tables, bathhouse and beach (that is, Beach 11 at Presque Isle State Park). As I commented to Katie, the mommies they've become are so intricately connected to the essence of their college student personas. There was a comforting continuity and recognition in seeing their humor and care expressed to their offspring, much as it was to each other when they were just figuring out who they are. And these children are delightful, and blessed to have such loving, caring, faith-filled parents.
Sheryl and TG have both reflected on the day's events beautifully on their own blogs. (TG — you certainly DO rock the orange flip-flops!) It was a gift to see students who have become friends, but who live too far away to make regular contact probable. Some of them, I've seen as recently as two weeks or six years ago. Others, not since they graduated 15 years ago. Most drove in from such far-flung locations as Pittsburgh, Cleveland and Buffalo — the Erie Triangle. Sheryl trekked all the way north from Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
As always after a reunion like this, I am grateful for the gift of time and space to reconnect with people who were once-upon-a-time so integral to my daily life, and who have, whether they know it or not, contributed to making me the person I am today. I'm already looking forward to next year's reunion, and to reconnecting with those who weren't able to make it this year.
Reunion Season continues...
Monday, May 28, 2007
Flowering memories
It's been my favorite kind of Memorial Day holiday so far. I slept late, I enjoyed my coffee while lounging in front of mindless, late-morning TV, and read the newspaper. I'm heading out to Dad's in a little while to enjoy some family time. My youngest brother is in from New York City this week, and my niece finishes up school on Friday; Saturday, she heads south to spend the summer with her mom. We haven't all been together since Christmas.
Yesterday, we enjoyed a mini family reunion down in Bentleyville at Uncle Paul's and Aunt Barb's, and got to visit Mom's grave on the way there. My brothers and Dad got to the cemetery earlier than I was able to, and had planted marigolds at Mom's grave, as well as next to Grandma and Grandpa Hamilton's. I must have just missed them, so this was my first visit to Mom's graveside by myself. It was weirdly emotional and odd at the same time. I'm glad there is a grave to visit, but at the same time, I know she isn't really there. It's very strange.
My friend Peggar came over a little while ago with extra flowers from her own weekend gardening. She planted them for me in the pots in my front yard and back deck. Mom is the one who shopped for those planters with me years ago, and she's the one who first helped me put flowers in.
Mom loved her flowers, and I enjoy them, too, but I clearly did not inherit her farmer's daughter's green thumb. The farmer's granddaughter is hopeless at keeping plants alive. I resolve to try harder this summer not to neglect or over-water these flowers.
The flowers on her grave, in my planters, and in the flower beds at Dad's are all blooming in tribute to my mother. But even after those flowers wilt, her memory will live on. Thank God.
Happy Memorial Day.
Yesterday, we enjoyed a mini family reunion down in Bentleyville at Uncle Paul's and Aunt Barb's, and got to visit Mom's grave on the way there. My brothers and Dad got to the cemetery earlier than I was able to, and had planted marigolds at Mom's grave, as well as next to Grandma and Grandpa Hamilton's. I must have just missed them, so this was my first visit to Mom's graveside by myself. It was weirdly emotional and odd at the same time. I'm glad there is a grave to visit, but at the same time, I know she isn't really there. It's very strange.
My friend Peggar came over a little while ago with extra flowers from her own weekend gardening. She planted them for me in the pots in my front yard and back deck. Mom is the one who shopped for those planters with me years ago, and she's the one who first helped me put flowers in.
Mom loved her flowers, and I enjoy them, too, but I clearly did not inherit her farmer's daughter's green thumb. The farmer's granddaughter is hopeless at keeping plants alive. I resolve to try harder this summer not to neglect or over-water these flowers.
The flowers on her grave, in my planters, and in the flower beds at Dad's are all blooming in tribute to my mother. But even after those flowers wilt, her memory will live on. Thank God.
Happy Memorial Day.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Why?
I wrote in my journal last night, which is something I do too infrequently anymore. But when something happens in the world like the shootings at Virginia Tech yesterday, it seems wrong to ignore it. The problem is, I don’t really know what to say about it.
And so I’ll say just that, and direct you to the brief and eloquent reflection of one of my CCO colleagues, Joshua. He says much of what I’ve been thinking and feeling.
Lord have mercy.
And so I’ll say just that, and direct you to the brief and eloquent reflection of one of my CCO colleagues, Joshua. He says much of what I’ve been thinking and feeling.
Lord have mercy.
Saturday, April 7, 2007
Easter Eve
Holy Saturday. The day between Good Friday, the darkest day of the year, and Easter, the celebration of Ultimate Hope. It seems a good time to share my latest newsletter.
Easter blessings, friends. —alm
------------------------------
In June, I will celebrate 19 years of working with the CCO. That’s almost half my life. In close to two decades of writing newsletters to friends, family and supporters, I have never gone a full calendar year between newsletters — until now.
When I last wrote, in April 2006, the news of my mother’s diagnosis of pancreatic cancer was relatively fresh. In spite of an exciting beginning of 2006 in Pittsburgh — the Steelers won their fifth Super Bowl in early February — my world turned upside down within weeks.
On February 17, I traveled to Washington, DC, to interview staff and students at Howard University for a magazine article I was writing. That same day, my mother was scheduled for a biopsy, after weeks of pain in her back and the detection of a “shadow” on her pancreas. By February 23, just days before the annual Jubilee conference, a typical highlight of my year, the news was confirmed: there was a tumor on her pancreas, and it was malignant. Surgery was suggested as an option, with the first available consult with a surgeon scheduled for March 15.
We came to find out that surgery was not an option after all, and in spite of radiation and chemotherapy treatments, the cancer continued to spread. By the end of September, the day after my 40th birthday, we made the decision to cease treatments and go to full home hospice care. On October 17, my mom passed away. It was a week to the day before she would have turned 65.
As it turns out, 2006 was a very difficult year.
In the midst of the grief and helplessness I felt while watching Mom suffer through her pain and fear, God showed up in some big ways. He continues to show up.
I took intermittent family leave in order to spend more time with Mom and Dad, and by the last month or so, I was pretty much living with them. Thanks to high-speed internet access at their house, I was able to continue my work on the updated CCO website from their house. I was there when Mom drew her last breath — in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher, while Dad was in the bedroom by her side.
I am grateful for advice I was given early on to spend as much time with Mom as I could. I am grateful that I took that advice, and that my colleagues at the CCO supported that decision and held me and my family up in prayer throughout those months. I am grateful for my church family, who did the same, providing prayer support and meals. I am grateful for my extended family and friends, who visited and sent letters, cards and emails, and who traveled to western Pennsylvania from as far away as Ohio, Florida and Montana for her funeral.
It is true that 2006 was a difficult year. It is also true that God continues to show up, giving us the strength to carry on after losing someone so very central to our family. My dad, brothers, niece and I continue to navigate a new family dynamic, and we continue to grieve. We’ve made it through several difficult firsts — Mom’s birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas. There are certainly more to come; we approach the six-month mark of her death in April.
As Easter draws near, I pray that you will join me in clinging to the hope of the Resurrection. I have been amazed by the gifts of grace I received throughout Mom’s illness, including a renewed closeness and appreciation for my family. I miss her so much, but I am grateful for the 40 years we shared on this side of heaven.
Thank you all for the gift of your friendship, love and support throughout my life and this past year. Happy Easter.
Easter blessings, friends. —alm
------------------------------
In June, I will celebrate 19 years of working with the CCO. That’s almost half my life. In close to two decades of writing newsletters to friends, family and supporters, I have never gone a full calendar year between newsletters — until now.
When I last wrote, in April 2006, the news of my mother’s diagnosis of pancreatic cancer was relatively fresh. In spite of an exciting beginning of 2006 in Pittsburgh — the Steelers won their fifth Super Bowl in early February — my world turned upside down within weeks.
On February 17, I traveled to Washington, DC, to interview staff and students at Howard University for a magazine article I was writing. That same day, my mother was scheduled for a biopsy, after weeks of pain in her back and the detection of a “shadow” on her pancreas. By February 23, just days before the annual Jubilee conference, a typical highlight of my year, the news was confirmed: there was a tumor on her pancreas, and it was malignant. Surgery was suggested as an option, with the first available consult with a surgeon scheduled for March 15.
We came to find out that surgery was not an option after all, and in spite of radiation and chemotherapy treatments, the cancer continued to spread. By the end of September, the day after my 40th birthday, we made the decision to cease treatments and go to full home hospice care. On October 17, my mom passed away. It was a week to the day before she would have turned 65.
As it turns out, 2006 was a very difficult year.
In the midst of the grief and helplessness I felt while watching Mom suffer through her pain and fear, God showed up in some big ways. He continues to show up.
I took intermittent family leave in order to spend more time with Mom and Dad, and by the last month or so, I was pretty much living with them. Thanks to high-speed internet access at their house, I was able to continue my work on the updated CCO website from their house. I was there when Mom drew her last breath — in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher, while Dad was in the bedroom by her side.
I am grateful for advice I was given early on to spend as much time with Mom as I could. I am grateful that I took that advice, and that my colleagues at the CCO supported that decision and held me and my family up in prayer throughout those months. I am grateful for my church family, who did the same, providing prayer support and meals. I am grateful for my extended family and friends, who visited and sent letters, cards and emails, and who traveled to western Pennsylvania from as far away as Ohio, Florida and Montana for her funeral.
It is true that 2006 was a difficult year. It is also true that God continues to show up, giving us the strength to carry on after losing someone so very central to our family. My dad, brothers, niece and I continue to navigate a new family dynamic, and we continue to grieve. We’ve made it through several difficult firsts — Mom’s birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas. There are certainly more to come; we approach the six-month mark of her death in April.
As Easter draws near, I pray that you will join me in clinging to the hope of the Resurrection. I have been amazed by the gifts of grace I received throughout Mom’s illness, including a renewed closeness and appreciation for my family. I miss her so much, but I am grateful for the 40 years we shared on this side of heaven.
Thank you all for the gift of your friendship, love and support throughout my life and this past year. Happy Easter.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
The Launch
I missed posting on February 17, which, given the new significance of "17" in my life, would have been a predictable date for me to show up here. And since everything tends to point to Mom these days, I would have noted that, not only was February 17 the four-month anniversary of her passing, it was also the one-year anniversary of the biopsy that discovered the cancer.
February 17 was also Jubilee weekend, which is why I wasn't posting blog entries that day. (I won't take the time now to come up with excuses for why I didn't post the other 27 days of the month, or the last half of January.) I was hanging out at the Hilton Pittsburgh, listening to challenging and inspiring speakers, reuniting with old friends, and soaking in the last Jubilee conference to be held at the Hilton. Jubilee has been held there since 1978, but after 30 years, we've outgrown the place. Praise God! There were more than 2,100 people registered for this year's conference. In 2008, we'll convene at Pittsburgh's new Convention Center.
Unlike other years, when I've taken students or had administrative responsibilities at the conference, Jubilee isn't what made my February so crazy at work this season. Instead, I've been consumed with the work involved in getting our newly-designed CCO website to launch. We've been working on content development and design for months, but things really ramped up after Christmas, in anticipation of a late January target date to go live.
After many delays, we finally launched the new site on Monday, and it's so cool!
My work has primarily been focused in the Where We Serve section, which includes pages for each of the 82 schools where there is a CCO presence, as well as a page for each CCO campus staff person. I've also been having a lot of fun posting updates to the staff and student alumni section, as well as the Newsroom, where you can find a wrap-up of Jubilee 2007.
Now that the launch has happened, I need to move back into other writing projects, and then there will be other sections of the site (including a newly-configured "CCO staff only" section) coming soon. Busy at work and beyond, as I look forward to a break in the form of a long weekend up in New York City with my dad, uncle and brother, as we cheer Pitt's basketball team to victory in the Big East Tournament at Madison Square Garden.
As I continue to commemorate 17, I am grateful that life does continue, through joy and through sorrow.
February 17 was also Jubilee weekend, which is why I wasn't posting blog entries that day. (I won't take the time now to come up with excuses for why I didn't post the other 27 days of the month, or the last half of January.) I was hanging out at the Hilton Pittsburgh, listening to challenging and inspiring speakers, reuniting with old friends, and soaking in the last Jubilee conference to be held at the Hilton. Jubilee has been held there since 1978, but after 30 years, we've outgrown the place. Praise God! There were more than 2,100 people registered for this year's conference. In 2008, we'll convene at Pittsburgh's new Convention Center.
Unlike other years, when I've taken students or had administrative responsibilities at the conference, Jubilee isn't what made my February so crazy at work this season. Instead, I've been consumed with the work involved in getting our newly-designed CCO website to launch. We've been working on content development and design for months, but things really ramped up after Christmas, in anticipation of a late January target date to go live.
After many delays, we finally launched the new site on Monday, and it's so cool!
My work has primarily been focused in the Where We Serve section, which includes pages for each of the 82 schools where there is a CCO presence, as well as a page for each CCO campus staff person. I've also been having a lot of fun posting updates to the staff and student alumni section, as well as the Newsroom, where you can find a wrap-up of Jubilee 2007.
Now that the launch has happened, I need to move back into other writing projects, and then there will be other sections of the site (including a newly-configured "CCO staff only" section) coming soon. Busy at work and beyond, as I look forward to a break in the form of a long weekend up in New York City with my dad, uncle and brother, as we cheer Pitt's basketball team to victory in the Big East Tournament at Madison Square Garden.
As I continue to commemorate 17, I am grateful that life does continue, through joy and through sorrow.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Dancing with a banged-up heart
Today marks the three-month anniversary of my mom's passing. I suspect the 17th of every month will hold this new significance for me from now on...and with an intensity through this first year.
It's good to know, in the midst of grief, that while mine is certainly unique to me, it is not unique to the human experience. I am grateful that I grieve the loss of my mother, that we loved each other so deeply, that this love is not buried with her ashes, but lives on in my heart and my dreams. I dream about her often, and when I wake up thinking of her, I remember her telling me how she dreamed about her mother, even 30 years after she died.
And life goes on, and you learn to laugh through (and in spite of) the tears.
It's good to know, in the midst of grief, that while mine is certainly unique to me, it is not unique to the human experience. I am grateful that I grieve the loss of my mother, that we loved each other so deeply, that this love is not buried with her ashes, but lives on in my heart and my dreams. I dream about her often, and when I wake up thinking of her, I remember her telling me how she dreamed about her mother, even 30 years after she died.
And life goes on, and you learn to laugh through (and in spite of) the tears.
"I have survived so much loss, as all of us have by our forties—my parents, dear friends, my pets. Rubble is the ground on which our deepest friendships are built. If you haven't already, you will lose someone you can't live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and you never completely get over the loss of a deeply beloved person. But this is also good news. The person lives forever, in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up. And you come through, and you learn to dance with the banged-up heart. You dance to the absurdities of life; you dance to the minuet of old friendships."
—Anne Lamott ("untitled," p. 174, Plan B: further thoughts on faith)
Thursday, January 11, 2007
12 years
I'm wrapping up my work day and preparing to head out to meet my dad, brother and niece for dinner. Today is Katy's 12th birthday. She's 12. How did that happen already?
The first family birthday celebration since Katy's Grandma passed away will be a bittersweet one, I expect. But it's a day to celebrate, and to that end, I offer up again the tribute to Miss Kate's birth in my 1995 essay, "New Life."
Happy birthday, Katy!
The first family birthday celebration since Katy's Grandma passed away will be a bittersweet one, I expect. But it's a day to celebrate, and to that end, I offer up again the tribute to Miss Kate's birth in my 1995 essay, "New Life."
Happy birthday, Katy!
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
Thank you, friends
As I ramp up to fulfill my resolution to blog more frequently this year (don't you love the verb "to blog"?), I thought I'd go for two consecutive days. It's a start.
My friend Renee gave me a page-a-day calendar for my birthday, and its theme is friendship. The January 2 quotation is so appropos to my experiences of the past year—thanks to those of you who have embodied this in my life:
My friend Renee gave me a page-a-day calendar for my birthday, and its theme is friendship. The January 2 quotation is so appropos to my experiences of the past year—thanks to those of you who have embodied this in my life:
"Show me a friend who will weep with me; those who will laugh with me I can find myself." —Slavic proverbI am grateful for the shared tears and the shared laughter. Thank you all, for both.
Monday, January 1, 2007
Resolutions
Welcome 2007!
It would be an understatement to say that 2006 was a challenging year for me. In fact, I don't think it would be an exaggeration to declare that these past few months have been among the most painful of my life. They have also been full of signs of God's grace and love. I can't explain that phenomenon, but I am beyond grateful for it. More paradox. Hope in the midst of despair. The ultimate Christmas gift.
Over these last few days, I've been reflecting on the psychology of "happy new year," new year's resolutions and all that comes with the seeming arbitariness of, on December 31st at midnight, "leaving" one year and "entering" another. The symbolism of it all appeals to me, though, and while I'm not prone to making long lists of goals and resolutions, I have been encouraged by friends who have commented on my absence from the blog. And so I resolve to write more frequently in 2007, starting today, January 1.
Welcome 2007. May it truly be a new beginning, full of hope and healing. Happy New Year!
It would be an understatement to say that 2006 was a challenging year for me. In fact, I don't think it would be an exaggeration to declare that these past few months have been among the most painful of my life. They have also been full of signs of God's grace and love. I can't explain that phenomenon, but I am beyond grateful for it. More paradox. Hope in the midst of despair. The ultimate Christmas gift.
Over these last few days, I've been reflecting on the psychology of "happy new year," new year's resolutions and all that comes with the seeming arbitariness of, on December 31st at midnight, "leaving" one year and "entering" another. The symbolism of it all appeals to me, though, and while I'm not prone to making long lists of goals and resolutions, I have been encouraged by friends who have commented on my absence from the blog. And so I resolve to write more frequently in 2007, starting today, January 1.
Welcome 2007. May it truly be a new beginning, full of hope and healing. Happy New Year!
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Paradox
My mother passed away today.
At 12:20pm, with my dad by her side, her labored breathing ceased, and God spared her yet another second of pain. I had been by her side, in her bedroom, only minutes earlier, stroking her arm, pressing a cold, wet wash cloth to her forehead, telling her how much I loved her and assuring her that God loves her too. That it was OK to go.
These last few days have made it clear that her time was coming, that she was eager for it to come. "I don't understand why it's taking so long," she said to me on Sunday afternoon. Earlier, she recounted to me and my dad a conversation she'd had with my youngest brother a couple weeks ago, when she said she had lived a full life and she was ready to go. She wanted to be sure we weren't doing anything to prolong her life. We assured her that we weren't; we were only doing what we could to make her as comfortable as possible.
Hospice is an amazing organization. What a blessing.
So this afternoon, as I was unloading the dishwasher in my parents' kitchen, my mother's life ended. This particular chapter of it, anyway. And I am amazed, even though I've heard about this from so many others, by the overwhelming peace and relief I'm experiencing in the midst of the profound sadness. It is one of so many paradoxes that comes with saying goodbye to someone who wasn't really here anymore anyway.
God bless you, Mom. I love you so much, and so does God.
Here is Mom's obituary, drafted by my brother Vern, which will appear in tomorrow's Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, Pittsburgh Tribune Review, and the Washington Observer:
Janet Fulton Maczuzak (nee Hamilton), of North Huntingdon Township, Westmoreland County, Pa., died at home on Tuesday, October 17, 2006 due to complications associated with pancreatic cancer. She was 64 years old.
A loving wife and mother, Mrs. Maczuzak dedicated her life to the comfort and well-being of her family. Born October 24, 1941 in Washington, Pa., to the late David and Frances Hamilton, she was a native of western Pennsylvania, always returning here from living also in suburban Philadelphia, Cleveland, and South Bend, Ind. Mrs. Maczuzak was active in several Presbyterian church congregations and choirs, and was a member of the Sweet Adelines International singing group, most recently of the River Bend Chapter in northern Indiana.
She is survived by her husband of 42 years, John A. Maczuzak, and was the loving mother of Amy of Pittsburgh, John David of North Huntingdon, and Vern of New York, NY; and the devoted grandmother to Kathryn “Katy” Maczuzak. She is also survived by one brother, John Hamilton and his wife Ginny, of Eighty-Four, Pa., and several brothers- and sisters-in-law, nieces and nephews.
Family and friends are invited to call on Thursday, October 19 from 6:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. and on Friday, October 20 from 2:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m. and 6:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. at the James W. Shirley Funeral Home, Inc., 176 Clay Pike, North Huntingdon. Her funeral service and interment will be held on Saturday, October 21 at 10:00 a.m. at Pigeon Creek Presbyterian Church, 45 Church Road, Eighty Four, Pa. (Please come directly to the church on Saturday morning.)
In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made in her memory to Family Hospice and Palliative Care. http://www.familyhospice.com/donations.htm
At 12:20pm, with my dad by her side, her labored breathing ceased, and God spared her yet another second of pain. I had been by her side, in her bedroom, only minutes earlier, stroking her arm, pressing a cold, wet wash cloth to her forehead, telling her how much I loved her and assuring her that God loves her too. That it was OK to go.
These last few days have made it clear that her time was coming, that she was eager for it to come. "I don't understand why it's taking so long," she said to me on Sunday afternoon. Earlier, she recounted to me and my dad a conversation she'd had with my youngest brother a couple weeks ago, when she said she had lived a full life and she was ready to go. She wanted to be sure we weren't doing anything to prolong her life. We assured her that we weren't; we were only doing what we could to make her as comfortable as possible.
Hospice is an amazing organization. What a blessing.
So this afternoon, as I was unloading the dishwasher in my parents' kitchen, my mother's life ended. This particular chapter of it, anyway. And I am amazed, even though I've heard about this from so many others, by the overwhelming peace and relief I'm experiencing in the midst of the profound sadness. It is one of so many paradoxes that comes with saying goodbye to someone who wasn't really here anymore anyway.
God bless you, Mom. I love you so much, and so does God.
Here is Mom's obituary, drafted by my brother Vern, which will appear in tomorrow's Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, Pittsburgh Tribune Review, and the Washington Observer:
Janet Fulton Maczuzak (nee Hamilton), of North Huntingdon Township, Westmoreland County, Pa., died at home on Tuesday, October 17, 2006 due to complications associated with pancreatic cancer. She was 64 years old.
A loving wife and mother, Mrs. Maczuzak dedicated her life to the comfort and well-being of her family. Born October 24, 1941 in Washington, Pa., to the late David and Frances Hamilton, she was a native of western Pennsylvania, always returning here from living also in suburban Philadelphia, Cleveland, and South Bend, Ind. Mrs. Maczuzak was active in several Presbyterian church congregations and choirs, and was a member of the Sweet Adelines International singing group, most recently of the River Bend Chapter in northern Indiana.
She is survived by her husband of 42 years, John A. Maczuzak, and was the loving mother of Amy of Pittsburgh, John David of North Huntingdon, and Vern of New York, NY; and the devoted grandmother to Kathryn “Katy” Maczuzak. She is also survived by one brother, John Hamilton and his wife Ginny, of Eighty-Four, Pa., and several brothers- and sisters-in-law, nieces and nephews.
Family and friends are invited to call on Thursday, October 19 from 6:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. and on Friday, October 20 from 2:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m. and 6:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. at the James W. Shirley Funeral Home, Inc., 176 Clay Pike, North Huntingdon. Her funeral service and interment will be held on Saturday, October 21 at 10:00 a.m. at Pigeon Creek Presbyterian Church, 45 Church Road, Eighty Four, Pa. (Please come directly to the church on Saturday morning.)
In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made in her memory to Family Hospice and Palliative Care. http://www.familyhospice.com/donations.htm
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
40 years
Today is my 40th birthday.
I tried to keep a daily journal for the last month of my 30s (which, arguably, would also be the last month of my 40th year, but I digress). It didn’t work out so well, at least not as a daily exercise. It did get me to write more than I would have otherwise. Given the circumstances of my life, which has been focused around my mom’s illness for months, that’s something.
In the midst of the darkness of this season of life, which has nothing to do with my age and everything to do with watching my mom suffer the pain and fear of cancer, God continues to remind me that I am his beloved. He does it through friends, whose calls and visits and notes and hugs are treasures more valuable than I can express. Thank you all.
And here’s another way He has reminded me—through an email message received on my 40th birthday from a stranger. Here’s just a brief excerpt of today’s devotional from the Purpose Driven Life website, “Only one you” by John Fischer:
I tried to keep a daily journal for the last month of my 30s (which, arguably, would also be the last month of my 40th year, but I digress). It didn’t work out so well, at least not as a daily exercise. It did get me to write more than I would have otherwise. Given the circumstances of my life, which has been focused around my mom’s illness for months, that’s something.
In the midst of the darkness of this season of life, which has nothing to do with my age and everything to do with watching my mom suffer the pain and fear of cancer, God continues to remind me that I am his beloved. He does it through friends, whose calls and visits and notes and hugs are treasures more valuable than I can express. Thank you all.
And here’s another way He has reminded me—through an email message received on my 40th birthday from a stranger. Here’s just a brief excerpt of today’s devotional from the Purpose Driven Life website, “Only one you” by John Fischer:
…think about the things you have gone through so far in your life — especially the difficult or challenging things where God has met you with his faith. That information is not just for you, it’s for you to empathize with and encourage others who have encountered similar struggles.I’m grateful for the first 40 years of my life, and I pray that, with God’s help, the next several decades will be full of meaning and purpose. Even if it’s hard to recognize at the time.
God isn’t messing around here. There are no accidents with our lives. Whatever we have received and experienced has shaped who we are, and because of that, we are qualified. There is truly no one else like you…for a reason.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Dramas
I realize that it's been a while since my last post, so I thought I'd add to my long-neglected blog the latest update I sent to family members this morning about progress with my mom's health. It's been a roller-coaster summer, but I guess that's to be expected, given the circumstances.
I'm on vacation this week, which has been very relaxing. A quick weekend get-away with my friend Lisa (to Dublin, Ohio for an Irish Festival), followed by lots of time with my mom and dad...just permission to not think about deadlines for a whole week: heaven!
I woke this morning to news of the latest terrorist plot disrupted (please God) and was reminded of how many dramas, on every imaginable scale, are being acted out minute-by-minute. Perspective is good.
Anyway, here's the latest in my own personal drama:
I'm on vacation this week, which has been very relaxing. A quick weekend get-away with my friend Lisa (to Dublin, Ohio for an Irish Festival), followed by lots of time with my mom and dad...just permission to not think about deadlines for a whole week: heaven!
I woke this morning to news of the latest terrorist plot disrupted (please God) and was reminded of how many dramas, on every imaginable scale, are being acted out minute-by-minute. Perspective is good.
Anyway, here's the latest in my own personal drama:
It's been a couple eventful weeks since my last update...The visit from [my youngest brother] Vern didn't turn out quite as expected, as Mom was admitted to the hospital the day he arrived (Wed., July 26) and was finally discharged the day he left (Mon., July 31). We spent a lot of quality time in her hospital room, though, and things have improved considerably since then.
Mom was admitted because of dehydration, low appetite, nausea, and lack of energy. We were attributing all of this to the chemo/cancer, but it turns out that the real culprit was one of her heart medications—she had three times the amount of dygoxin in her system than she should have. (Since her valve repair surgery over a year ago, she's been taking this to control her heart rate.)
Now that this has been taken care of, she's been like a new woman. Still some pain, but much more energy, appetite, etc. The doctors suspended her chemo treatments as a result, and she just started a new cycle today. After two more treatments (next week and the week after), they'll finally do the CT scan we've been waiting for so that we can see how the chemo has been working.
Thank you all so much for your love and prayers. The notes and cards really help Mom—and all of us.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Miracles
"Sometimes in small ordinary ways we experience the presence of God, as in the ability to get out of bed in the morning and keep our children alive. Other times we know for certain in the way a particular thing has fallen out, by its timing and our lack of control over it, that we've witnessed an unusual gift of grace. A miracle really, though we hesitate to call it that."I read this the other day, just before I found out the very hard news that my mom's tumor did not, in fact, shrink as a result of the radiation treatments she endured. Surgery is no longer an option, and new "shadows" were detected via the CT scan, on both her liver and lungs. Since radiation obviously is also no longer an option, she starts chemo again tomorrow. She is exhausted, she is in pain, and she is losing weight.
—Margie Haack, from Notes from Toad Hall (Issue #1 — 2006; Still Winter)
And we live one day at a time, hour by hour, trusting that God's grace is sufficient.
This past week, I've been recognizing my utter dependence on God in a profound way. This is not a new revelation, but it is something that I can too easily forget when things are going well. Now I am treasuring every breath—the ability to get out of bed and do what needs to be done. I am grateful for the gift of laughter, and even for the tears.
Lots of tears lately, but also lots of love.
I am a beloved daughter of God, and He is showering me with reminders from others that this is true. That this is true for my mom as well. I pray that she feels it as tangibly as I do at this moment, through the notes and phone calls and hugs. And I pray for my dad and my brothers and my niece, and for all the people who love Mom and the rest of us.
I was writing in my journal last night that I feel like George Bailey in It's a Wonderful Life, in the final scene, when his brother toasts him as "the richest man in town."
One friend shows up with a mocha and a hug.
Others, who are hundreds of miles away, assure me that the minute I ask, they'll jump in a car or a plane and make their way to my side.
Many offer prayers and tears and encouragement and funny stories.
One tells me, even as tears are streaming down my cheeks, that I'm having a great hair day. This makes me laugh. Another hears the news and figures out why it is I've been on her mind so much lately, and why she's been so sad. This makes me cry.
I've been prayed for by people I've known for a few months and by people I've known most of my life—and even by someone I knew, very briefly, a long time ago, and with whom I only recently reconnected.
I call all of these things miracles, and I can boldly pray for more—for comfort, for healing, for strength, for peace. For life everlasting.
Let nothing disturb thee. Let nothing frighten thee. Everything is changing. God alone is changeless. Patience attains the goal. The one who has God lacks nothing. God alone fills all our needs. —St. Teresa of Avila
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
A Groovy Announcement
Just thought I'd check in with a quick post to encourage you to check out my friend Sheryl's big announcement. A unique and appropriate way to celebrate one's 35th birthday...
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Resurrection Sunday
Now that those of you who read my blog and also are on my mailing list have likely received my April newsletter, I guess it's safe to post it here. I've hinted a bit in previous blog entries about difficult things happening. This explains further.
A blessed Easter to all! —alm
----------------------------
When I attended Ash Wednesday services a few weeks ago, I was reeling from the news that my mother had just been diagnosed with cancer. A “shadow” detected on her pancreas in early February turned out, in fact, to be a cancerous tumor.
As I write this letter, Mom is beginning her second week of radiation and chemotherapy treatments, and her prognosis is much better than we first feared. She will undergo surgery sometime this summer, after this round of treatment shrinks the tumor. But her doctors report that the cancer has not spread beyond her pancreas. They caught it early. Praise God!
This reminder of my (and my mother’s) mortality has rested heavily over me during this Lenten season, even as I have continued to go about my daily work and life. Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return. I remember. It’s been hard to forget.
Even so, life has indeed continued. I’ve spent the first months of 2006 writing, editing, worshiping, eating, reading, watching TV, drinking coffee, attending my 20-somethingth Jubilee conference, spending time with friends and family, and cheering Pitt’s basketball team to victory (and defeat).
I’ve traveled to the Washington, DC area twice in as many months, to interview the two new CCO staff people who are reaching out to college students at Howard University and George Mason University (whose basketball team fared much better than my beloved Pitt Panthers in the NCAA Tournament, by the way!). Their stories will appear in upcoming issues of the CCO’s On Campus magazine.
I combined the GMU trip with a visit with my friend Jeff and his family in the DC area last week (after more than a decade of promising to do so “someday”), and I went bowling for the first time in many years with Ann and Terri a couple weeks back—and even managed a couple spares and a strike between gutter balls! I have gathered with good friends to pray for my mom’s complete healing.
I look forward to celebrating the Resurrection once again this year, rejoicing and resting in the promise of eternal life assured by my faith in Jesus Christ. God is good—all the time. Thank you for the many ways you continue to demonstrate this reality for me.
Happy Easter!
A blessed Easter to all! —alm
----------------------------
When I attended Ash Wednesday services a few weeks ago, I was reeling from the news that my mother had just been diagnosed with cancer. A “shadow” detected on her pancreas in early February turned out, in fact, to be a cancerous tumor.
As I write this letter, Mom is beginning her second week of radiation and chemotherapy treatments, and her prognosis is much better than we first feared. She will undergo surgery sometime this summer, after this round of treatment shrinks the tumor. But her doctors report that the cancer has not spread beyond her pancreas. They caught it early. Praise God!
This reminder of my (and my mother’s) mortality has rested heavily over me during this Lenten season, even as I have continued to go about my daily work and life. Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return. I remember. It’s been hard to forget.
Even so, life has indeed continued. I’ve spent the first months of 2006 writing, editing, worshiping, eating, reading, watching TV, drinking coffee, attending my 20-somethingth Jubilee conference, spending time with friends and family, and cheering Pitt’s basketball team to victory (and defeat).
I’ve traveled to the Washington, DC area twice in as many months, to interview the two new CCO staff people who are reaching out to college students at Howard University and George Mason University (whose basketball team fared much better than my beloved Pitt Panthers in the NCAA Tournament, by the way!). Their stories will appear in upcoming issues of the CCO’s On Campus magazine.
I combined the GMU trip with a visit with my friend Jeff and his family in the DC area last week (after more than a decade of promising to do so “someday”), and I went bowling for the first time in many years with Ann and Terri a couple weeks back—and even managed a couple spares and a strike between gutter balls! I have gathered with good friends to pray for my mom’s complete healing.
I look forward to celebrating the Resurrection once again this year, rejoicing and resting in the promise of eternal life assured by my faith in Jesus Christ. God is good—all the time. Thank you for the many ways you continue to demonstrate this reality for me.
Happy Easter!
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Third Incarnation
I just had an article published in catapult magazine! The theme of this issue is "Wonder Years: Reflections on our memories from our teen years and the nature of being a teen-ager today."
I offered up a revised version of my essay about my 20th high school reunion, which was first published by the CCO's now-defunct Ministry Exchange, and then later posted here. I'm glad for the opportunity to share it with a broader audience.
I know my blogging volume has been on the low-to-nonexistent end lately. Themes from Amy's Lenten season 2006: mortality, brokenness, hope and trust. I'll try to flesh out these themes at a later date, but suffice to say, I've not felt compelled to send them into the blogosphere yet.
Meanwhile: I'm alive, I'm well, I'm hopeful, and I'm hanging onto the promise of the Resurrection. God is good — all the time.
I offered up a revised version of my essay about my 20th high school reunion, which was first published by the CCO's now-defunct Ministry Exchange, and then later posted here. I'm glad for the opportunity to share it with a broader audience.
I know my blogging volume has been on the low-to-nonexistent end lately. Themes from Amy's Lenten season 2006: mortality, brokenness, hope and trust. I'll try to flesh out these themes at a later date, but suffice to say, I've not felt compelled to send them into the blogosphere yet.
Meanwhile: I'm alive, I'm well, I'm hopeful, and I'm hanging onto the promise of the Resurrection. God is good — all the time.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Spring is here!
And it's supposed to snow tomorrow. Go figure.
I know I haven't been around in the blogosphere lately...on the writing side, at least. I have been reading blogs, though. Occasionally.
I heard this commentary on NPR's All Things Considered this past Friday. I thought my blogging friends might find it as amusing as I did. (I'm just grateful it prompted me to post something new in this blog, as it's been close to a month since the last entry...)
I'll try to post more frequent, and more original, entries soon. Really.
I know I haven't been around in the blogosphere lately...on the writing side, at least. I have been reading blogs, though. Occasionally.
I heard this commentary on NPR's All Things Considered this past Friday. I thought my blogging friends might find it as amusing as I did. (I'm just grateful it prompted me to post something new in this blog, as it's been close to a month since the last entry...)
I'll try to post more frequent, and more original, entries soon. Really.
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