Living through strange times

We're bored. We're anxious. We're nervous and we're frustrated. Covid-19, or Corona Virus, has the world in its germy, contagious, scary grip. We have to physically separate from friends and family, kids can't go to school, and people in grocery stores, at least those brave enough to go, are avoiding each other like they're told. Most people are working from home, except for essential employees like healthcare workers, law enforcement, grocery and drug store employees, delivery personnel, and restaurant workers for takeout service only. They are the current superheroes, and rightfully so. We get to stay clear of the germs. They have to work in the midst of the unknown, and healthcare and law enforcement are dealing with a severe shortage of protective gear.

Saying it's a really strange time is putting it mildly.

With social media and the internet, pandemic hysteria has swept the country and the world. For whatever reason it caused people to hoard toilet paper and buy up all the baking supplies like flour and yeast. For obvious reasons it's impossible to find hand sanitizer and antibacterial wipes except online at jacked-up prices. Worse than that, common citizens have cleared the shelves of much-needed surgical and medical masks, creating the dangerous shortage for the medical community.

We could argue for days about why we've found ourselves in such a debacle, but what will that get us? Now that we're in the thick of it, knowing it will get worse before it gets better, it's time to step back away from the panic, take deep breaths and do what we're told -- wash our hands, stay 6 feet away from anyone you're not living with, and stay out of the few public places that are still open (grocery and drug stores, mostly) as much as possible. If you think all these precautions are silly and an over-reaction to something "not even as bad as the flu," that's your prerogative. If you're not concerned about yourself, think of anyone else around you, including those you love, who you could unknowingly infect by your carelessness!

As with all tragedies, this surreal world-wide situation has brought out the best in people and the worst. But the best are out-playing the worst. The words "What can we do" have filled the eerie silence hanging over the now idle city streets. People are digging into the cellar cabinets and donating masks they didn't realize they had; businesses whose employees use masks and have been temporarily shutdown are donating their masks to local hospitals and fire stations; dress makers, crafters, seamstresses and tailors are sewing masks in record numbers. According to the extremely grateful healthcare workers, although not ideal, a homemade mask is better than nothing. And Hollywood has stepped up with donations of medical equipment used in their tv shows and millions of dollars being donated by celebrities. Fundraisers are helping the many groups of now unemployed workers, and grateful citizens are reaching out to hospitals, police and fire with food donations to express their appreciation. And just as meaningful, children are sending cards to nursing home residents because they can't have visitors. The stories of goodwill are countless, and heartening.

Although we're all worried about how long this will go on, too many have no idea how they'll pay their bills or feed their families, and others are worried about losing their retirement as the stock market reacts to this uncertainty, we must all stay on this path of compassion and working together for the common good. And without forgetting the seriousness of it, keep your sense of humor and share it with others! Enjoy the many memes circulating on facebook, and your together time with your family. Call those you can't physically be with, and check on your neighbors, especially those who are truly alone. And don't forget to say a prayer or send comforting thoughts to those directly affected by the illness as well as all those on the front lines of this demon.

Wash your hands, stay apart and remember, this, too, shall pass. Together, with trust and faith in each other and God, we'll conquer Covid-19 and come out the other side better for it.

18 years ...

18 years ... seems like a life time, and it seems like yesterday. This evening my thoughts went to Sept. 10, 2001. What a nice, normal night it was.  Jeff took Meaghan to cheerleading practice with his newspaper in hand and Julia in tow. Meg was 11 and Julia was 7. Julia played in the grass (probably with a sibling of another cheerleader) while Jeff read the paper. He told me that night that pages of his newspaper blew away and he found great humor in watching Julia chase them around the field. He always did find our kids' antics quite amusing. When he and the girls came home from cheerleading, he and Matthew, who was 13, hung a new basketball backboard that they found brand new in the Kmart dumpster. He was so proud of that find! They played HORSE in the new hoop, and Matthew beat him for the first time.

After a family dinner and while he was getting ready for his trip to California for a 3-day conference, he rambled off some information about bills, payments, blah blah blah like he always did before he left for a trip. I half listened, as I always did. We spent some time that night talking in bed about nothing and everything. The next morning, our world shattered. The life we had planned as a family disintegrated before our eyes on national tv. Suddenly our little family was part of American and World history.

What I wouldn't do to turn the calendar back, even for five minutes to tell him things I've wanted to say since then. Today a Globe reporter asked me what I would say to Jeff. Surprising myself, I unsuccessfully tried to choke back the urge to cry. "I'd tell him I love him and always will, and I miss him," I said to the reporter. "I'd also tell him how proud he would be of our kids, that they grew up to be exactly who we wanted them to be -- funny and kind."

The last 18 years the kids grew to be various versions of him, some of me, and a lot of the two of us combined. From 18 years of grief I grew to be more compassionate and understanding and better able to appreciate life's little moments. Jeff left me with many blessings --  our kids, love, family, humor and so much more. We've made great strides in 18 years. We've moved forward, not on. We've gotten through it, not over it. I've learned the heart has the capacity to love what was while loving what is. And I've learned time doesn't heal wounds; it gives your heart and your head the strength to accept and deal with the pain of loss.

Equally importantly, I've learned being kind makes the heart smile, fills the soul, and gives you purpose. Share kindness today in memory of all those you love who've passed. What better way is there to honor and remember them?

There's no Happy in Memorial Day

Last week in more than 80 degree heat, 100 volunteers helped Massachusetts Military Heroes Fund create its 12th Annual Garden of Flags on the Boston Common. In non-covid times, this would have involved 700 volunteers and taken 90 minutes, but because of state regulations, we had a smaller crew of first responders, veterans and health care workers. Over the course of 11 hours, the sloping ground from the base of the Sailors and Soldiers' Memorial was covered with 37,342 American Flags. Each of these flags represents a service member who died in service, or as a result of service, since the Revolutionary War. Each represents a family that has grieved their loss, and many who still do.

Memorial Day is a time to remember those who made the ultimate sacrifice. Its meaning over the years has been lost to mattress and car sales, to bbqs and opening summer homes. Few acknowledge what Memorial Day stands for as they greet people with "Happy Memorial Day!" Town parades that honor the fallen draw sparse crowds. 

Meanwhile, families of  those who've served and died endure the once well-intended National Holiday with appreciation for the respect some offer, and with tolerance as they repeatedly hear Happy Memorial Day. 

One of our inspirations in creating this flag garden 12 years ago, in addition to wanting to honor our grieving military families, was to help remind people that Memorial Day has a solemn meaning. Its significance matters to Gold Star families and the families who've lost loved ones as a result of PTS-related suicides, training and other accidental deaths while serving, and disease caused by exposure while serving. Therefore, its meaning should matter to us.

We hope, and we think displays like the flag garden help drive home the true meaning of the day. I wrote the following blog a few years ago, but it bears repeating annually.

Memorial Day was designated in 1868 by General John Logan as a day to honor soldiers killed in battle. It was originally called Decoration Day, as 5000 volunteers decorated the graves of the 20,000 Union and Confederate soldiers buried at Arlington.  The day was designated for the "purpose of strewing with flowers, or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country," according to General Logan, the national commander of the Grand Army of the Republic.  

Simply put, it's a day to remember the fallen -- those who gave the ultimate sacrifice in service to our country. 

It wasn't intended to be a day for department store sales and sheer fun, rather a day to honor and remember, and a day to reflect on the heroism of those who served and died for our country. When and how did "Happy Memorial Day" become the accepted sentiment?  Would you ever say Happy Pearl Harbor Day, or Happy September 11, or Happy Anniversary on the anniversary of a loved-one's death?  It would seem insensitive and inappropriate to give such a greeting.  It's no different with Memorial Day.

No one discourages a celebration of the weekend that signifies the unofficial start to summer or gatherings of family and friends, but just take some time to acknowledge its meaning -- attend a parade that honors our fallen, take your children to a local memorial and explain why the names are engraved on that wall, let them help plant flags on a veteran's grave, create your own symbolic flag garden at your home or your neighborhood. Teach them to respect the sacrifice the service members made as they bravely faced the enemy in defense of our country -- an enemy that comes in many different forms.

Memorial Day is also often confused with Veterans Day, and many will use it as a time to say thank you to Veterans and active duty/reservists.  While it's always appropriate to show our appreciation to veterans and current military, Veterans Day, Nov. 11, is the day designated for thanking a vet.  Reserve Memorial Day for remembering the fallen -- "Memorial" does suggest a remembrance of someone no longer here.

The Flag Garden on the Boston Common is a beautiful and poignant reminder of the real meaning of Memorial Day. The idea came from a story told about the impact 3000 flags had on my daughter, a young college student away from home for her first time on the anniversary of 9/11, the day that took her father from her.  From there, the germ of an idea was born, and the first annual Massachusetts Military Heroes Fund garden of 20,000 flags quickly grew.

 Now more than 37,000 flags cascade down from the Sailors and Soldiers Memorial until Tuesday, the day after Memorial Day.  37,000.  It's a big number, and one that is hard to comprehend, until you see the flags.  They seem to wave in unison as the breeze catches them.   325 of them represent the sisters, brothers, sons and daughters, wives and husbands, partners, mothers and fathers, friends and other relatives who died in service or as a result of service since 9/11. 

 It's difficult to look at the flags without feeling a connection; without seeing a tear from a child's eye who is missing his or her daddy; without feeling the pride of a father as he talks about his hero daughter; without hearing the pain in the laughter of siblings remembering the last time they were together before the uniformed military personnel showed up at their door with news of their loved one's passing. Each flag stands for a life -- for a family in mourning.  

A discussion of how best to honor the fallen heroes of the Massachusetts Military Heroes Fund Families on Memorial Day became a Garden of Flags that has now become a part of Boston's tribute to Massachusetts heroes for the last 12 years. Thousands visit the garden each day, taking pictures, marveling at the bittersweet beauty, and shaking their head at the numbers.  Thousands stop for at least a moment to realize there is a real meaning behind Memorial Day -- to remember a life; to honor a family who feels the loss in their lives every day. 

So instead of saying Happy Memorial Day, encourage gratitude and respect for the sacrifices made. Honor and Remember the fallen on Memorial Day. And just be kind to others in their memory.

Remembering a friend

Life is short ... we remind ourselves of that fact anytime something devastating happens. We think about how we should live life to the fullest, spend more time with loved ones, tell people we love them every day, take that vacation we've been dreaming of ... because we never know what tomorrow will bring.

That reminder came again last week to a huge number of people who all have one thing in common -- admiration for a truly kind, generous and thoughtful man who touched our lives in some way. Many of us met Bob Biggins at one of the most challenging and tragic times in our lives, when we faced the difficult task of laying a loved one to rest. I first met Bob in 2001 after my husband Jeff died. Our good friend Bill Moore was a funeral director at Bob's funeral home, Magoun-Biggins, so we decided to go there. Like many people our age at the time, I had never given any thought to where I would go if I had to say goodbye to a family member. So when I was in the position of staring down the dark hole of grief and feeling helpless, Bill reached out and said Bob had offered to handle Jeff's services if we wanted them to. They were there at every turn to guide me through. With real heartfelt compassion, Bob was like a big teddy bear, always willing to give a hug I desperately needed, making me smile even in the throws of grief, and knowing exactly what to say, but with sincerity, not because it was his job. 

With our input, Bob and Bill put on a beautiful service to honor Jeff, and made my family feel as comfortable as humanly possible at an uncomfortable and frightening time. In the end, Bob never sent me a bill. Years later after we had to deal with remains that were recovered, Bob and Bill again handled the "processing" with understanding and love.  

Bob and I became friends, and he became a regular supporter of the Jeff Coombs Memorial Foundation. Many of us who met him through the funeral home had the honor of calling him a friend even many years later, because that's the kind of guy he was. 

Last year when my friend lost her son suddenly, I called Bob and he said "absolutely, we'll take care of her." Bob held her hand, and more importantly, her heart, through the process, helping her honor her son in the way that was right for her and her family. He looked after her like a caring big brother, enabling her to survive the worst emotional pain she had ever felt.

Bob and I talked about catching up over a glass of wine. I know he wanted to tell me how happy he was in his new relationship with his fiance Donna, and that he hoped the same would happen for me. He sometimes checked in on me and told me "keep an open mind" when it came to love, often finishing with the inside joke "because you're kinda cute." Life got in the way and we never did get to catch up. But I had let him know how thrilled I was for him that he found love again after losing his soulmate, Chris, to breast cancer.

While in NYC the day I found out Bob had passed, I walked into Macy's to get out of the rain before meeting my nieces at the 9/11 Museum -- the whole reason I met Bob in the first place. One of the first things I saw was an enormous display of colorful, mostly patterned bow ties. After unsuccessfully fighting back tears on the train to NYC, I smiled when I saw them and said a quiet little "Hi Bob."

Rest in piece, my friend. You've reminded us that life is precious and is meant to be lived. Thank you for touching my heart, and my kids' hearts. Now our hearts are with your family and friends.

Family ties that bind ... no matter what

I grew up the youngest in a family of 12 kids – 8 girls and 4 boys.  With 15 years between me and the oldest, I don’t remember a lot about all 12 of us being home at once. But I vividly remember life with the youngest 6, and I remember crazy, loud and often dysfunctional holidays.

The youngest 6 consists of me, my three sisters and two brothers.  They are 1, 2, 3, 4 and 7 years older than me, with Pete, or Petey, as we called him, being the oldest of us 6. We all walked to school together, and sometimes he would walk with us to the recreation center where we spent a lot of our time in the summer. He was the one who didn’t exactly play by the rules all the time and got into a bit of juvenile trouble. He and our dad had a very difficult relationship, so he ran away from home a lot. He was my big brother, and I loved him, so when he did run away, he would sneak into the backyard some nights to pick up clothes and a peanut butter or bologna sandwich that I would leave for him.

Right after high school he went into the Navy and served in Viet Nam. He used to write us about all his adventures in the Far East, and sometimes sent us little gifts.  When it came time for him to re-up in the Navy for another few years, the government denied him because he had been caught buying weed.

 He floundered for a while and became estranged from our family.  Every few years he would resurface briefly and let us know he was ok.

Thankfully, in our parents’ senior years, he and our dad made amends. We called him the prodigal son as he became a favorite child, finally. Our parents welcomed him back into their lives with open arms, and he would visit them occasionally, cooking amazing food for them since he was a self-trained chef in the merchant marines.  Peter being Peter, he would disappear for a while again and again, randomly reaching out after months or a couple of years. Any time we had a family reunion, he was usually the one sibling missing.  One year we made a stuffed dummy and put his picture on it so we could get a picture of all 12 of us kids.  

     When 9/11 happened, I got a call from him from out at sea after not having heard from him for years. He had never even met Jeff, but heard about us in the news and wanted to let me know he had my back. He did so in a way that made sense to him. I laughed at his gesture and shook my head, thinking Pete is still Pete!  But I appreciated hearing from him.

      He loved his career in the Merchant Marines, except that it kept him from his wife and step-daughter for extended periods of time.  He had his family at sea, though; loved cooking for them, and enjoyed the travel.

Although we weren’t often in touch, he did on occasion let us know about his experiences, like when they were pursued by a boat load of pirates.
     Two summers ago I was determined to get all 12 of us siblings together. I convinced him to join us for our family reunion in San Diego. It would be the first time in more than 25 years that we would all be together and the first time most of us had seen him in many years.  He stayed with the kids and me, and of course, cooked for us and made sushi rolls, much to the kids' delight. It was the first time many of his nieces and nephews, including my kids, met him. It was strange, and ironic, that of all the Schmitt siblings, he looks the most like our father. When our mom (who, at 95, has dimentia) saw him for the first time after several years, she looked as though she was staring at the ghost of our dad. 

      This past summer we learned from his daughter Tori that he was sick.  He had suffered a stroke and wasn’t expected to survive as his condition worsened.  Miraculously, he recovered from the stroke, but tests revealed he had advanced stages of lung cancer, likely caused by exposure to agent orange and years of smoking, and remained quite ill.  Some of us flew to California to see him, knowing it would probably be the last time.

Today Tori let us know that our brother is at the end of his life, and in the last few minutes, we found out he passed. None of us knew how we would react because of the way he was in and out of our lives. But family is family, and the bond is unbreakable. For 57 years we have been 12 siblings. Often times when I say I am the youngest of 12, people will ask if everyone is still living. I’ve always felt fortunate to say yes. Now facing the death of a brother is painful. But I’m grateful to have reconnected with him and to have met his daughter, who couldn't love him more if he were her biological dad. I’m grateful to her for being his family and loving him, even after her mother died of cancer years earlier. I’m grateful for the happy memories of our childhood. And I’m grateful to have had Petey as my big brother.  We will always be the 12 Schmitt kids from Yuma. 

May the angels guide you gently home in peace, big brother. I love you.

 

Remember Memorial Day

Each year the families who've lost a loved one in service or as a result of their service face Memorial Day with both pride and dread. This blog is my attempt to educate anyone I can about the real meaning of Memorial Day -- because it matters to the families, and therefore, it should matter to us. It's worth reposting each year, and this year, I repost at the request of a Gold Star family member.

Memorial Day was designated in 1868 by General John Logan as a day to honor soldiers killed in battle. It was originally called Decoration Day, as 5000 volunteers decorated the graves of the 20,000 Union and Confederate soldiers buried at Arlington.  The day was designated for the "purpose of strewing with flowers, or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country," according to General Logan, the national commander of the Grand Army of the Republic.  

Simply put, it's a day to remember the fallen -- those who gave the ultimate sacrifice in service to our country. 

It wasn't intended to be a happy day, rather a day to honor and remember, and a day to reflect on the heroism of those who served and died for our country. When and how did "Happy Memorial Day" become the accepted sentiment? It is spoken by many throughout Memorial Day weekend, and when you stop to think, it makes no sense whatsoever. Would you ever say Happy Pearl Harbor Day, or Happy September 11, or Happy Anniversary on the anniversary of a loved-one's death?  It would seem insensitive and inappropriate to give such a greeting.  It's no different with Memorial Day.

The meaning of Memorial Day has been lost in car sales, barbeques, and Cape house openings. No one discourages a celebration of the weekend that signifies the unofficial start to summer, but just take some time to acknowledge its meaning -- attend a parade that honors our fallen, take your children to a local memorial and explain why the names are engraved on that wall, let them help plant flags on a veteran's grave. Teach them to respect the sacrifice the service members made as they bravely faced the enemy in defense of our country.

Memorial Day is also often confused with Veterans Day, and many will use it as a time to say thank you to Veterans and active duty/reservists.  Veterans Day, Nov. 11, is the day designated for thanking a vet.  Reserve Memorial Day for remembering the fallen -- "Memorial" does suggest a remembrance of someone no longer here.

The Flag Garden on the Boston Common is a beautiful and poignant reminder of the real meaning of Memorial Day. The idea came from a story told about the impact 3000 flags had on my daughter, a young college student away from home for her first time on the anniversary of 9/11, the day that took her father from her.  From there, the germ of an idea was born, and the first annual Massachusetts Military Heroes Fund garden of 20,000 flags (dating back to the Civil War) quickly grew.

 Now more than 37,000 flags cascade down from the Sailors and Soldiers Memorial, each flag representing a Massachusetts service member who died in service to our country or as a result of service since the Revolutionary War.  37,000.  It's a big number, and one that is hard to comprehend, until you see the flags.  They seem to wave in unison as the breeze catches them.   Nearly 300 of them represent the sisters, brothers, sons and daughters, wives and husbands, partners, mothers and fathers, friends and other relatives who died in service or as a result of service since 9/11. 

 It's difficult to look at the flags without feeling a connection; without seeing a tear from a child's eye who is missing his or her daddy; without feeling the pride of a father as he talks about his hero daughter; without hearing the pain in the laughter of siblings remembering the last time they were together before the uniformed military personnel showed up at their door with news of their loved one's passing. Each flag stands for a life -- for a family in mourning.  

A discussion of how best to honor the fallen heroes of the Massachusetts Military Heroes Fund Families on Memorial Day became a Garden of Flags that has now become a part of Boston's tribute to Massachusetts heroes for the last 9 years. Thousands visit the garden each day, taking pictures, marveling at the bittersweet beauty, and shaking their head at the numbers.  Thousands stop for at least a moment to realize there is a real meaning behind memorial Day -- to remember a life; to honor a family who feels the loss in their lives every day. 

So instead of saying Happy Memorial Day, encourage gratitude and respect for the sacrifices made. Honor and Remember the fallen on Memorial Day.  

Running for Good

Bad things happen to good people all the time, and while we try to understand why, it really just comes down to being part of life. People deal in many different ways, but I think becoming part of something bigger than ourselves is significant in helping some people cope through the grief.

The last six years the Jeff Coombs Memorial Foundation, which we created after 9/11 to give us a positive focus, has been fortunate to be part of something amazing – the John Hancock Boston Marathon Charity Program. The first time we applied for a bib, we were granted one to give to a runner who would be willing to raise at least $5,000 for the Foundation. A college friend of my daughter Meaghan was our willing guinea pig.  She was a runner at Roger Williams University and running Boston was on her bucket list. She exceeded her $5000 goal and added the Boston Marathon to her list of accomplishments. Surpassing our annual goal again the next year, we eventually received two bibs and had no problem recruiting runners from a long list of family friends. While they raised huge sums of money for the Foundation, we in turn were able to help women like Jess Kraiza, Leah Ammon, Meg Yanosick, Chelsei Kane, Brooke Maltby and Kim Lynch achieve their dream of running Boston. Last year we had our first male runners, and with the demand for charity bibs becoming more competitive, we upped our minimum fundraising amount to $7500 per runner. Alex London, my friend’s son, traveled from Edmond, Oklahoma and John “Jack” Walsh, a high school and college buddy of my son, came from Stanford, Connecticut to run and raise an impressive $40,000 with the help of a couple of fundraisers and generous donors, earning us an additional bib for this year.

 Alex’s wife, Dr. Danielle London, an  Orthodontic student at Oklahoma University, was so inspired by her husband in 2016 that she asked to run for us this year and is running her first marathon. So is young mom and nurse from Winchester Margaret Fratus. Wearing the third bib in his first Boston marathon is Air Force National Guard Reservist, decorated Army Veteran, and Ohio Police Officer Andrew Hickey, the son of a friend.

Boston Athletic Association Race Director Dave McGillivray said the Boston Marathon once had an intimidation factor, “but the walls of intimidation have crumbled … (and people are running) for a greater purpose than themselves.” 

That greater purpose is evident, even palpable, among the non-profit coordinators whose role is to guide our marathoners in their effort to raise money for our causes.  As Dave and the John Hancock Corporate Responsibility Team convey to us how special this program is, and how extraordinary the Boston Marathon has become, I feel fortunate, thankful and honored that our Foundation is part of this. John Hancock’s sponsorship of the Boston Marathon has resulted in a partnership with hundreds of non-profits, enabling small and large organizations to raise millions of dollars collectively. John Hancock gets it right -- they provide us with the means to raise money, advise us in the process, and even provide incentives along the way. Every penny we raise goes directly to the foundations for distribution as described in our mission statements.   It has given the Jeff Coombs Memorial Foundation another opportunity to raise upwards of $40,000, which goes out to the families and programs we assist. 

For the seventh year, I will stand on the sidelines in Boston as a very grateful and proud cheerleader to our runners. And I will think about all the good work the money they’ve raised (and will continue to raise through May) can do for those who need it, in the name of Jeff. 

www.crowdrise.com/jeff-coombs-memorial-foundation

Many thanks to all those who've donated or supported the Foundation and our runners' efforts in any way!