Squirrel Hill

 Grief, Loss, Musing on Death  Comments Off on Squirrel Hill
Nov 022018
 

Last Saturday morning, on October 27, 2018, I shockingly read an email of a breaking tragedy unfolding at the Tree of Life.  Some recessed part of my brain recognized the name.  It was immediately familiar.  Reading further, my memory was confirmed when it was mentioned that it was in Squirrel Hill, my former home during college.  Then I looked up the building and it was very familiar visually, from thirty years ago, having gone by it numerous times for four years while living less than a mile away in the neighborhood.  I then tried to process my shock.

I imagine some of my neighbors from then may have been in the building Saturday morning.  I feel the need to honor my former beloved home and neighbors in the wake of the gruesome tragedy.  I hope that by sharing my grief, sadness, and memories of this vibrant area that I’m proud was my home, I may process through my bereavement.  My heart breaks for the peaceful, loving community there.  I have fond memories of the area.

I lived in Squirrel Hill as I attended the University of Pittsburgh from 1987 as an 18 year-old to 1990.  After graduating from U-Pitt in 1990, I built a house at 1646 Pinehurst Court in the Franklin Park area of Pittsburgh.  I can’t believe I remember the address.  It was built about the same time my current home in Denver was.  I then lived in a high-rise apartment in the Green Tree area of Pittsburgh until 1992, when I moved to Chicago following a divorce to start a new life.

The horrific event has taken me back to my life in Pittsburgh and at the University of Pittsburgh.  At U-Pitt, I spent most of my time in the Cathedral of Learning for my English Writing degree, as most of the English classes were located there.  I left for nearby buildings to complete my psychology degree and Asian studies certificate.  I developed a love of photography when I took courses with Pittsburgh Filmmakers.  I learned black and white photography which included developing my images in a dark room.  I also developed a love for video production through Pittsburgh Filmmakers.

I obtained a coveted paid public relations internship with Ketchum Public Relations and then a marketing internship, working with the National Association of Women Business Owners (NAWBO).  My internship supervisor stated I had the most marketable resume.

Squirrel Hill was my first home as an adult.  Remarkably, I still remember the address of the tri-level I lived in: 5832 Beacon Street in Squirrel Hill.  My wonderful landlords in Squirrel Hill who lived below me were Jewish.  I sometimes had dinner with them.  I was in a Jewish sorority at U-Pitt (Sigma Delta Tau), and was fine with others assuming I was Jewish.  On behalf of the sorority, I competed in a Greek Goddess competition, placing as a runner-up.

Murray Avenue is the main street off of Beacon Street.  I caught a bus near the intersection of Beacon and Murray to go to U-Pitt.  Murray Avenue is a bustling street where I walked to purchase freshly-baked bagels, do my laundry and purchase groceries at the nearby Giant Eagle grocery store.

I got to know the business owners on Murray Avenue well as a customer and also to sell advertisements to them for The Pitt News, where I was also a staff writer.  I was awarded “Most Persistent Account Executive” for transforming the least lucrative advertising territory of Squirrel Hill to most lucrative, over Oakland, where U-Pitt is located.  This was on my resume for a long time.  I had taken on the undesired territory as a challenge.  There must be roots in this experience and eventually getting and MBA in Market Strategy.  Fellow Pitt News Account Executives asked for my “strategy,” which I think was my caring relationships and connections with many business owners of Squirrel Hill, who were also friends and neighbors.  Some may have been in the building this past Saturday.

When I drove to Pittsburgh from Charlotte, NC in 1987, I was stunned by its beauty.  My first view was at night, coming out of Fort Pitt Tunnel to be struck by a lit-up downtown Pittsburgh, flanked by rivers and bridges.  The city claims to have the most bridges in the world, with 446.  I loved the ethnic diversity and attending the annual International Festival.  Many weekends, I went to the Strip District for groceries and ate great food at Station Square.

I didn’t personally know the neighbors who passed, but we shared the same space, possibly the same businesses, university, and likely passed each other.  We may have connections I’m not aware of.  Maybe they were my teachers in college or their children were my classmates.  There were likely many connections to Squirrel Hill.

I have had problems to contend with these days.  But this tragic event put things in perspective. I’m alive.  I may have time that those who passed do not.

Farewell, My Friend Leo

 Finding Meaning, Loss, Outlook, Relationships  Comments Off on Farewell, My Friend Leo
Nov 032017
 

878F1AD1-F2F1-488C-846F-3D8006FC1A1E.jpegDear Leo,

I’ve been stunned since yesterday, seeing the message associated with a LinkedIn invite.  I had been ignoring the invite from the woman for possibly weeks, thinking it was another work-related association I would get to later.  But then yesterday, I inadvertently saw the message on the invite that I didn’t know was there, with her stating she was your wife and that you had passed.  My heart stopped, as I immediately accepted the invite and responded back to her, beginning with “oh my God..”

I was further shocked learning the details of your passing, that you had six to seven months since learning about your advanced cancer diagnoses in March and then leaving us last month.  I can’t imagine what you went through during this time.

I stared at your LinkedIn picture with trimmed, tidy hair and background profile, feeling strange at the same time, knowing your professional profile was still there, but you were not.  Your impressive professional history was detailed, some of which you shared and intersected with mine.

You were devoted to our aerospace company and its Deep Impact program with a deadline in space in the next five years that could not be changed.  What a stressful deadline, that required you to work non-stop without sleep often.  The mission was a success, with the expense of your marriage, which ended.

I told your wife you had been like my smarter older brother, detailed the profound impact you had made on my life and how happy you seemed when I ran into you the past decade, after marrying her.  You appeared happy, adjusted and grounded, and that’s how I knew you had made a good choice in a mate.  You were focused on your lovely step daughter and I was touched to see the nurturing, fatherly Leo.

Your life clearly suited you and you seemed at peace.  I got the impression that you had evolved from what seemed to be your unrewarding rescue missions prior, which I have also been trying to move on from and let go of.

I will never forget the dark, curly, unruly-haired Cuban head I saw next to my cube that I got accustomed to seeing.  I wondered if the hair was perhaps unruly to match the focused engineer you were, like a mad scientist stereotype.

You were always there, as a workaholic, married first to our demanding company.  You were even there one Labor Day weekend, September of 2002, when you bravely shared your thoughts on my dysfunctional marriage, spurring me on to make the changes I needed to make.  You were courageous and caring enough to point out the inevitable course of action I needed to take, but didn’t feel strong enough to undertake.  You offered me that strength through your wisdom.

As a result, my life eventually turned big corners as I divorced.  You even provided pragmatic help that my family did not by lending me money during a financially difficult time as I made changes to transition to my new life.  I wouldn’t even know how to begin to thank you for this.

If I didn’t go to work then, I can’t imagine my life now.  Along with the loss of you from the world is a piece of me.  You were a part and witness to a significant, transformative time period of my life that you were instrumental in.  You showed me that someone can be an atheist and yet still be the most value-driven, caring person I’ve ever met.

You also divorced and struggled with missing your former partner.  I told you that “sometimes, it’s better to miss someone than to be with them.”  You mulled this over, said you liked it and that it helped you. Leo, I want you to know this quote doesn’t apply to you.  It breaks my heart we can’t have any more wise conversations because it would be better to be around you having deep, enlightening conversations than to miss you.

While drinking hot sake on a cold night, we provided each other with support following our divorces.  I have thought of you every time I’ve had hot sake since.  We never did get around to seeing Woody Allen movies together as we discussed, so now I must.  As you suggested, I will read (again?) Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, which I believe is somewhere in my home.

Rest in peace, my friend, workaholic former colleague, mentor and adviser.  Wherever you are, dude, I just hope there is a lot of hair gel.  Just sayin.’

Sad day for CO

 Finding Meaning, Gratitude, Loss, Outlook, Philosophy, Spirituality, Thoughts  1 Response »
Jul 202012
 

I along with fellow Colorado residents woke up this morning to the sad news of another shooting.  I’m sure many that are at least as old as me were transported to that day when there was breaking news of Columbine.  My now 14 year-old teen was an infant as I, a new mom then, was trying to reconcile the world my child was born into…He of course does not remember that day as he connects with fellow teens on what has occurred today.  I wonder what they are saying and how they comfort one another with their limited time on this planet.  I’m not certain how the rest of us console one another.

I don’t know what experience in this world teaches us about these events.  It is particularly hard to hear and understand when the victims are children.  In this case, even a three-month old.  Spiritually and as a mom, this is particularly difficult.  I’m sure all moms would want to hug and hold this child’s mom along with the moms of the other children, such as a six year-old and fourteen year-old (that could have been my teen).  One victim had survived a previous shooting.  She had a strange feeling and had walked out of a mall just before the shooting.

A common difficult feeling most of us feel during times like these is that of helplessness.  In this case, it occurred at midnight, when most of us were sleeping.  It was the first thing I heard about when barely awake, before my first cup of coffee.  But life had to go on, we had to get ready for work and get our daughter ready for daycare.  As the day wore on, we learned more.  The children that lost lives, from 3 months to 14 years.  My child’s beloved daycare teacher’s husband was there, covering a teen boy with his body to shield him.  A City of Aurora employee, my spouse can see the theater from his building at the Aurora Municipal Center.  This tragedy will impact him and his colleagues even more.  I imagine there would be permanent changes to their work culture and how they view their jobs and city.

It is strange to think I was just at the Aurora Municipal Center the previous weekend with our daughter to attend the city’s kid festival, “Kidspree,”  where my husband was volunteering.  There was a huge turn-out from Aurora and the focus was on innocence and fun for the kids.  Some Aurora police officers were there, on their bikes, with not much to do but enjoy the event.  Kids were on the karaoke machine back to back, belting out songs including those from Adele.

One of the thoughts that comes next for most us is regarding what, if anything, we can do.  From a big picture, it is challenging.  How can such a tragedy be prevented?  Are the violent movies to blame?  Is there inadequate or not enough mental health services?  How and why did this student get to this stage?  Is this another case of a “lost” boy as mentioned during Columbine?  Are we not taking adequate care of some of our boys so they can grow up to be caring and responsible members of society?  These are tough, complicated questions with probable tough, complicated answers.  At the same time, such questions and others should be asked and answers should be sought, however complicated they may be.

In the meantime, there are pragmatic, immediate actions that can be done to help if desired.  The American Red Cross Mile High Chapter is seeking donations to help the families displaced or hurt by this violence.  The Bonfils Blood Center is requesting donations of O-Negative and A-Negative blood to help them restore their bank following the numerous surgeries related to injuries sustained during the shooting.

This tragedy reminds us to hold our loved ones close, count our blessings, and to be appreciative of our fragile time here.

Farewell My Dear Princess Pooja

 Finding balance, Loss, Musing on Death, Personal Growth, Relationships, Spirituality  Comments Off on Farewell My Dear Princess Pooja
Jun 062011
 

Pooja

My Dearest Pooja,

it feels challenging to even accept that I’m writing to you in the universe as of 6/3/11, rather than find you in my home, to tell you directly how much you have meant to me.  The words have been forming, and they feel inadequate.

  • You have been my anchor for 15 years.
  • You have been part of the definition of my existence.
  • My daily script included you.
  • We have been extremely loyal to each other and have been there together during ups and downs.  I nursed you through a life-threatening dog attack, hip surgery and various life changes, as you nursed me by being my constant, loving companion, though bossy and ornery at times, just as I was.

Dear Pooja, how do I continue my loyalty to you now?  How do I continue to take care of you now?  This phase doesn’t fit in the script of my life and function with you.  Where do I go from here?

I am not and was not ready for the story of you and me to end.  Maybe you knew that and you left me on a Friday when my husband could help that weekend with my daughter so I could grieve and also leaving after my son was out of school, as he will be there tomorrow when my husband goes back to work.  He is also spared having to face school during this time of healing.

I can not be mad at you because that would make me not loyal and devoted to you.  But I have felt mad at something for taking you away from me in a way that I can’t even get you back.  There is not a chance of reunion in this lifetime for me and when you got lost and I found you at the shelter.

Your passing does not have a solution like your previous wounds; I can not fix it, and I am not in control.  That must be part of the loyal, parental anger I feel.  I would not desert you and I would find you to the end of the Earth, as I know you would do for me.  But you are not on this Earth now and I have been paralyzed and lost with grief and shock.  Now what?  How do I march forward without you by my side?

You have been the security blanket I’ve unknowingly had for 15 years.  All was well at a basic, constant level when you were in the picture.  You helped me feel secure, grounded, centered, and loved.  It is hard to look at any space in my home and notice that you are not in it.  With you in my life, the days seemed sunnier, the flowers felt prettier, and smelled nicer.  I cared more about having my plants grow and enjoying the warmer weather with you.  I enjoyed the breeze through you, watching you sniff it, basking in the sun and environment around you in our back yard, just within the past week.  How do I experience and enjoy life without you?

Your deteriorating health sent me to tears, as I was forced to consider the inevitable with your age.  Reading about potential help with your ailments (that I was aware of) gave me hope, which I held to as you went to see the vet this Friday, 6/3.  I assumed you would come home that night with medication to fix things, and I would continue my regimen of caring for you and the rest of my kids.  I was not prepared to consider you may not come home.  Now I try to conjure up every moment of that day, as it ended up being my last with you.  Had I known it would be, would it be easier?  Or is it like children getting a vaccination shot, when you may not want them to know the exact moment and be distracted, to lessen the pain and fear of anticipation?

Your loyalty extended to my children, whom you watched enter the world, grow, and love you.  You chose to sleep near me at the end of the day, every single day, even when your back legs were failing you recently, and you would push your body up to your spot in my room and life.  When we limited how much you pushed your body by restricting you and you stopped protesting with your barks; I was filled with sadness, knowing your were resigning to a new phase.  This was not the Pooja I knew, and I was scared.

I am so sorry for being so bad at letting you go, and if that caused you further suffering and a heavier burden.  I’m sorry for my selfishness in thinking there would not ever be a good time for you to go.  You ended up looking after me even in your passing by ensuring I was with the support I needed.

As much as I hurt in losing you, I will never regret the love you brought in my life and that of my family the past 15 years, which will always be a part of me.  You have blessed me and my family immeasurably.  Thank you, Pooja, you are a “prayer” answered, as your name means.  I pray that I will see you someday, in your peak physical form, flying through the air to catch a frisbee and chasing tennis balls.

Tennis balls will remind me of you along with everything else.  For now, just waking up, breathing and looking at anything reminds me of you.  My heart aches and feels empty at the same time.  I don’t want to be disloyal by not thinking about you and letting you go in anyway feels disloyal.  Giving up your body felt disloyal.  I will never be able to feel your soft ears that felt like the plant lamb’s ear in my yard.

Two weekends ago, I was noticing your triangular ears perked up as you were lounging next to my husband in the park.  You did not look aged.  You were beautiful, majestic, serene, and proud.  Looking into your eyes felt like I was looking at an old soul and that you could see my soul.  I am grateful for choosing to look into those eyes as you passed from this world.  And then I looked at the dreaded sight of your body not going up and down with breath.  You were still.  Your eyes and gaze remained the same.

Pooja, I will love you forever.  You are a part of me and my family and always will be.  I will be honoring you every time I love and nurture my family that I will always be loyal to, as you have been.  Rest in peace, my Princess Pooja and now my angel.

Pooja, Colin, and Bhalloo 1/18/10