What is more amazing than greeting another day?

On this eve that signifies rebirth for many of my FOF friends, I wanted to tell you about two vows I’ve made during the last few years:

Vow #1

I’m not  waiting for a doc to tell me I’m dying to appreciate every breath I take.

Vow #2

If I do learn I’m dying, I have no intention of going through the process without grace, dignity and humor. I wouldn’t be happy, but I don’t think I’d accomplish much by feeling sorry for myself.

An elderly woman I know has been pitying herself ever since she was diagnosed with cancer over two years ago. She’s wasted a great deal of time dying–not living.

I also knew a 17-year-old girl who was diagnosed with cancer when she was 13. She spent the last four years of her life living–not dying.

Life is chock full of irony. Happy Easter.

Nick and Nora Charles didn't need any love potions

FOF friend Deborah told me about a husband and wife who have a sensual little nightly ritual. They take turns hiding a small Buddha-like statue in their bedroom. The purpose isn’t to make it hard to find, but to establish a symbolic connection between them. I love it.

When I heard the story, I started thinking about other ways to keep intimacy alive, even though we’re so busy with our lives:

1.   Kissing every night before bed, no matter how you feel.

2.   Calling unexpectedly to say, “I’m thinking of you and love you.”3.   Suggesting you drop everything to get away for two days.

4.   Inviting your partner to have sex, even if you’re a.)exhausted b.) have no desire c.) had sex a week ago.

5.   Telling each other what made you happy/sad during the day.

6.   Putting aside 15 minutes to spend together every (or most every)morning–over coffee, tea, yogurt–no matter how much you have on your schedule for the day ahead.

7.    Stopping to actually look into each other’s eyes at least once a day, even if for only a 5 seconds.

8.   Finding something funny to share every day. Laughing with someone you love is sexy.

9.    Wearing something a tad sexier than flannels PJs.

Any ideas?

* 1959 song, The Clovers

When your three-month old baby is crying, you try to figure out why. Is she wet? Does she have an ear ache? Is she tired? Have a temperature? You try to make her as comfy as possible, and pray she’ll stop.

When your three-year-old  toddler is crying or seems sad, you ask her what’s wrong? She may or may not tell you. If she doesn’t seem sick, you ask a zillion questions and try to figure out what else could be wrong so you can make her feel better.

When your thirteen-year-old is sad or unhappy, it’s probably because she’s thirteen. You still try to talk to her and find out what’s wrong so you can try to “fix” it.

When your thirty-year-old daughter is unhappy, it may be because she had a bad day at work, a fight with her husband or is worried about her three-year-old.  Or the reason may be a lot more complicated. If you know she has deep-rooted problems, you want to help, just like you did when she was three months, three years or thirteen. You probably even know how to guide her.

But you probably can’t help like you used to because she won’t let you. She needs to figure it all out herself. It’s just the cycle of life.

Chances are, she’ll turn out to be FOF, just like you. Because of you, too.

I miss my mother, May. She died 15 months ago, at almost 87. Funny thing is, we hadn’t had a warm, cuddly relationship for most of our lives. I was born nine months after my dad returned home from World War II. Mom hadn’t seen him for three years, so I don’t know why she was so anxious to bring another person into the picture, especially because she wasn’t especially motherly.

Mom was always proud of the fact that I was toilet trained at 10 months (I don’t think she’d have had it any other way. She didn’t have much tolerance for those who didn’t do things according to her expectations or rules.)

Mom once told me that if my father, my two sisters and I were all drowning, she’d save my dad first. I know she didn’t say it to upset me. It’s just the way she felt. Dad was her sun, moon, stars, heaven and earth.

A wonderful therapist helped me learn to accept mom, which was a great relief to me. As the years went on, I developed affection for her. Maybe even love.

Mom raised three wonderful daughters, so she obviously did something right. She had many friends and interests. She never complained, even when she had a stent put in her heart. She was over 80 at the time.

She didn’t expect me and my sisters to keep her entertained as she got older. She fell during the night in December 2008 and we found her the next morning on the floor near her bed, disoriented but with a blanket over her.

She had broken her hip and had surgery the next day. Two weeks later, she was dead.

Although I now know surgery was probably not the smartest choice for an 87-year-old, mom was mentally deteriorating and would never have been the same person, even without surgery.

That would not have sat well with her. With me, either. Besides, I know she was excited about being with dad again. She hadn’t seen him in over two decades. That was long enough.