Wednesday

Beloved

Susan
August 12, 1961 ~ February 13, 2010

Loving you is so very easy;
your ready laugh
and beautiful smile,
your infinite giving heart.
You give so much to me
and to all of us.
You share your strength and courage
when I have none;
a kind word
and the warmest hugs.
We can't have the old days back
when we were all together.
But the memory of those
happy days stays with me
and always will.

Looking back at the path
you have walked,
I bless every moment we shared.
Whatever your path holds now,
I know it will be
filled with grace,
for that is what you are.
Though we may be apart
my love walks beside you.

I'm honored and grateful we're sisters.

You are with me always.
You are treasured.
You are remembered.
You are loved.

A letter to my sister
February 3, 2010
~shira kozak

Friday

Witnesses to History

Eight years ago we were witnesses to history. We were there in heart, in mind, and some of us, in physical being. We call September 11, 2001 one of our nation’s darkest days. A day of Terror. A day when our world as we knew it changed forever. We shared grief for those lost, and relief for those found.

Today as I mark my personal anniversary, I’d like to offer a different perspective that begins in a deeper past, during the time of Plato. Archetypes have been around since the dawn of man, defining the roles we play in our lives. Plato called them Forms, a kind of abstract concept that can be applied to actual things. Carl Jung took this further, stating that archetypes were psychological patterns derived from historical roles in life, as well as universal events or situations.

During and after 9-11, archetypes played a major part in the life-changing situations in which we found ourselves. We were the Hero, The Victim, God & Martyr. We were Rescuer, Warrior, and Avenger. Eventually we added Scribe & Advocate, Storyteller & Healer. Liberator. And we found ourselves sharing the darker shadow side, too.

Throughout history we have been both Destroyer and Destroyed. In America, we repeatedly have enacted the role of the destroyer in the wars, conflicts, and battles we’ve engaged in.

When someone threatened us, threatened our suppliers and (useful) allies, and our ‘way of life’ we were there, guns drawn, wearing the Bully and Victim on our sleeve, avenging any hostile act. We claim that war is unavoidable; but how thoughtfully do we consider the depth and force of our response? Can we name the times we applied the right degree of force? Do we know it was equal to the need?

This year, as the bell chimes at Ground Zero and prayers are read at the Pentagon, consider that we as a nation have colluded with an age-old system that no longer benefits us. A system I feel no longer defines us. Consider that we colluded with that system unconsciously. That we allowed it to happen and we did it together. We have done it many times before; imagine the rapturous gleam in the eyes of southerners when the Confederate flag was trotted out during the Civil War.

We have been the Destroyer. We have been the Destroyed. And perhaps it is time for those outgrown, unconscious roles to see the light of day. To shine a light on them brighter than New York’s Tribute in Light. To begin to know them for what they are.

What if we, as individuals, as a nation, and as a global consciousness were to say, I have been both the destroyer and the destroyed, and I no longer stand for either?

What if we said this aloud today, to self and friend, to loved person and colleague? Would we begin to heal the devastation in our hearts?

Let’s dry our tears, raise our heads, and put the experience into a higher perspective. Let’s begin to derive something meaningful from the events of September 11th, rather than cyclically renewing our anger, fear, and rage. Let’s challenge September 11th to give us something more than the ability to harbor a vengeful heart, nearly a decade later.


Today I’ll fly my American flag proudly. But this year, I’ll know in my heart that there is a deeper meaning, a more enlightened perspective somewhere within the stars and the stripes, waiting to be known. A message, a call to something higher.

And I’ll proudly say, “Today, I stand for something more.”

Tuesday

in my mind, there is an endless summer...



my little boy is having a birthday soon



we've escaped the City
for just a little while.

We'll dream of Christmas

teach Chris to ice skate.

When we get home, we'll slow our pace.
Buy groceries. Feed the dog.
Bask in the last of summer.
In my mind.

Saturday

21 days later

I could not have anticipated how difficult the first week without Licorice would feel. We spent the weekend grieving for her and supporting each other, and then Monday arrived. The family went back to work and school and here I was, at home, alone, without my sweetheart. If I never experience a Monday like that again, I will be eternally grateful. After years of being with her daily, taking care of her needs, and shooing her out of my office when I was working, suddenly not having her with me left me feeling brutalized.

In the last six months or so she had begun to feel unwell, and so after her cancer diagnosis I spent a good deal of my time watching her, making sure she wasn't ailing, or in pain. All that worry took a toll that the rest of the family didn't experience. I felt alone in my pain in some ways that first week. Lost. Her things were still around; an empty kibble dish and a bag of snack treats. Her toys strewn all over the house, her favorite chew bone still under the ottoman. Scratch marks in the carpet in my bedroom. (like a cat she always 'made dough' with her nails before lying down).

I was angry with her after she died, angry that she had been such a darned pest toward the end, in need of constant attention. She followed me everywhere, literally. If she could heave herself up from lying in a sunspot, she'd be right behind me. I can't tell you the number of times she was right on my heels, tripping me up. Head in my lap whenever I sat down, heedless of client calls. Fourteen trips outside during the day, begging at the door in good weather for another chance to lie in her favorite grassy spot. I'd be forced to make her come back inside after ten or so minutes because with her lung tumors, too much sun was unhealthy and she'd begin wheezing. She was very stubborn. I'd have to get angry with her in order to get her moving, and I hated yelling at her. But it was that, or risk one of her attacks. We still don't know exactly what they comprised.

Licorice took something truly marvelous with her, a quality of self, a personality, something that we all miss a great deal. We loved her so dammed much and when she died, that something left. I dreamed of her the night she died. She simply appeared, in her "Good Dog!" sitting position, and appeared to be waiting. It was then I knew she was waiting for us to let her go.

She has since moved on, but we who love her struggle to do so. The reminders aren't so tough anymore; we don't pause to listen to neighbor dogs barking any longer. A labrador retriever on the street will still garner attention, but that Lab isn't our Lab, and so feels like just another dog. Not terribly special, you see.

My son of course is begging for a turtle/snake/rabbit/guinea pig/hamster/puppy/kitty/gecko/bird(what's with THAT?)/or $40 koi he can keep in a kiddie pool in the backyard. I simply don't know that I'll ever be desirous of another pet. Licorice truly had our hearts, and has them still.

Sunday

Happy Mother's Day

Miracles Are Mirrors of Your Love

Miracles are mirrors of your love
Open as spring windows to the breeze.
The child will in time a sailor prove,
Holding course as wind and will might please.
Eventually what is left is beauty,
Resonant with what was never sung
'Twixt the wonder and the sense of duty,
Salient as a word on silence hung.
Dear as life is, there is something dearer,
A truth that near dissolves as we draw nearer,
Yet is what is once tales of time are wrung.

~Grzegorz Gerwazy Gorczycki