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BRAVERY PROJECT: Guest blogger: Maggie Miller, “She is alive…and I am by her side.”

Posted on by lauraanneayres

I have been profoundly moved by the bravery from a family that I met years ago. Please get a box of Kleenex and read Maggie Miller’s story of bravery (yes, you are BRAVE, Maggie).  Pictures will be added as soon as possible. Thanks, Laura Anne  Follow this project @BeforeYouBook #BraveryProjoect

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Bravery. It doesn’t come from the inside. I know. I am often described as being “brave,” but never once have I ever felt brave. I have felt terrified. I have felt overwhelmed. I have felt hopeless and lost, but never once have I felt brave.

Bravery is something that is perceived from a distance, a retrospective observation of another person. So many people will tell you of my bravery, even those whose bravery I see. Yet, I cannot feel it. It’s not that I’m distant or egotistical. It is the truth that those who are brave, even those who decide to be brave, are often many things, but brave is not one of them.

 

I have a daughter, Sarah, whose whole life has been one big brave battle. She is the bravest person I know. She has been poked, prodded, examined, stabbed with needle after needle, held down against her will, fought back, cried and turned around and smiled and laughed. That is brave. I can only imagine the terror in her nightmares. What do you expect when a child’s own mother, the one being an infant is truly dependent on, forces her to swallow medication or stabs her with a needle or holds her down herself to let others do these things? The answer is simple, and oh so painful. The only thing you can expect is terror. Accompanied with the sympathetic nervous system fight and flight response; and of course a whole lot of tears (mostly mine).

 

But she faced it. She did it and she is amazing. She had no choice. She was forced to be brave. And I held her little body and kissed her little head. And she wears her battle scars, both physical and emotional, a little embarrassed (though she shouldn’t be), but she is alive. And she is well. And I am by her side. The war might be won, but there are still battles to fight. She struggles every single day. I help her when she falls, but mostly just watch her grow; nudging her along this unfair road that is her life, intervening to make her challenges a little lighter. Her courage is astounding. I see her as so much more that I could ever be. I tell her that it’s going to hurt but she has to do it anyway. She does it. Reluctantly, but she does. We bribe the crap out of her.

 

Being brave is not always the immediate choice when faced with a problem. It usually only appears after you’ve decided to do something, stand up for what you believe, fight for your life, etc. It often comes when the other choice is not something you want to face or accept. Fight the cancer or die. Fight for freedom or be a slave. Bring health care to the masses or have death and disease run rampant. Overthrow the corrupt system or be corrupted. Often eminent death is the deciding factor in becoming brave. In my case, I was never brave; all I did was take care of my baby the best I could. I have fought for her life and I continue to fight for her to live. Children deserve every opportunity to be healthy, educated and happy. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to make sure my children have those opportunities. I only appear brave because I have done the unfathomable. I cared for a sick child when there was little hope, when my own body was exhausted to the point of complete shutdown. I never slept, barely ate (though I easily gained more than 50 pounds). It was the single worst thing I have ever experienced. But it made me realize some things:

 

  1. I never, ever, EVER want to go through that again. . . But if I had to, I know I need to know what to expect. In the event of relapse we will be inpatient facing a bone marrow transplant and roughly 120+ days in the hospital with one very sick child, another terrified and neglected child (I wouldn’t leave her alone) and a huge emotional void in my spousal relationship, if we can find a match. I don’t look for the worst, but I have to know what could happen so that I will be ready if it happens. I hope we never have to face that monster again and we do so much to avoid it, including eating an organic diet and growing our own food as much as possible.
  2. I will survive if I miss a meal or a night’s rest. I will not just survive, but I will reset my body and be better off for the skip. It will be challenging and emotionally taxing, briefly, but I will survive. I always miss meals and sleep the night/week before a follow-up appointment. I used to miss the night before the testing to determine the current status of the cancer. It’s part of a whole mess of emotional train wrecks just before scans/checks we all call “scanxiety,” and it’s normal. At least in my world.
  3. I learned to live in the moment. We celebrated Sarah’s birth every month while she was in treatment. I had no confirmation that she would be one to live through treatment. I didn’t know how many birthdays she had left. I wanted her to know she was important and to “Celebrate Sarah” every chance I got. She was crowned prom queen alongside a slew of friends who gained their wings and flew away at the age of 2. No one told me I would be the one to be so fortunate to be able to wrap my arms around my baby and tell her I love her every day or so for the past 8 years. And my heart breaks for each and every parent who cannot. For every single child lost, through cancer or otherwise, because. . . No parent should EVER have to bury their child. One of my favorite quotes applies here: “Dance as though no one is watching, love as though you’ve never been hurt, sing as though no one can hear, live as though heaven is on earth,” (Souza) EVERYDAY, because you don’t get a second chance to live today.
  4. There are always going to be obstacles. There is no such thing as smooth sailing. . . At least not for long. Sarah faced a tiger in the ring of the coliseum and won her battle, but she didn’t come out unscathed. She has physical scars, cognitive scars and emotional scars from her battle. Some we don’t even know exist yet, I’m sure. Every child we know who has endured chemotherapy has cognitive dysfunction of one type or another, Sarah is no exception. She has physical limitations, though with some hard work we should be able to minimize these. She has emotional struggles that may never go away. She certainly will develop more problems as she grows. Statistically, 90% of children who have received one chemotherapy drug in particular eventually develop a cardiac concern which will require surgical intervention. I hope she is in the 10%, but I need to be prepared (see #1). We will face these battles just like the others as they present themselves. In the meantime see #3.
  5. It is OK to feel. It is ok to be upset, or happy, or angry, or embarrassed, or excited, so long as you are not negatively impacting other individuals. Let me explain: It’s not ok to hurt someone else, but it is ok if they empathize with you. If you are sad and crying and another person feels bad because you feel bad, they are human and are allowed.   There were moments when I was so lost in the flood of emotions I couldn’t see beyond my own bubble (I unconsciously attempted to protect myself by limiting my perception to a short distance effectively rendering me clueless as to the world around me). You have no idea how big emotions can be until you experience it first hand, like tidal waves of emotion, amplified immensely. And the emotions were all filled with enormous guilt. A moment of joy was often accompanied with the thought of the family journeying home for the final time to say good bye to their child while you were celebrating the end of a chemo cycle or finally getting out of the hospital. A moment of sadness was accompanied by the same guilt that you should be glad for what you have. These slishy, sloshy emotions are best dealt with one at a time, allowed to wash over you and to dissipate. Once I began allowing myself to feel my emotions, I gained a much better control over them.
  6. Kids are amazingly resilient. And they bounce. My Sarah was so mad at me (steroids as part of treatment) that I wouldn’t play the movie, she jumped out of bed as I was attempting to get it into the player and push play. She landed on her head and scared the devil out of me. . . And her nurse. . . And the fellows on for the night. . . And probably half the hospital staff. She bounced and got herself a CT scan in the middle of the night which was negative. She was so sick that first year I had day terrors of her death. The month of October 2007 we spent a total of 4—24 hour periods NOT in the hospital (inpatient or clinic appointments). I was terrified and she always smiled.
  7. And those who work with sick kids are not human, they are angels. I cannot thank them enough for all they put up with and did for me in addition to caring for my baby. Each and every one of them, from the front desk staff checking kids in to the cleaning crew to the nurses and doctors, has something different inside that is so admirable.

Obamacare – well played, Mr. President indirect BRAVERY PROJECT

Posted on by lauraanneayres

I almost fell out of love with someone very important to me a few years ago. I really struggled because I gave him so much of my time and attention at the beginning. I even wore T-shirts that had his name on them, put up signs promoting him, and sang at fundraisers. I did everything in my power to make sure everyone else knew how amazing he was. I put years into it.

I’m talking about Barack. Hey, I didn’t say this guy actually knew me. Just that he was important to me. And he still is. Keep reading.

Luckily, I never came close to falling out of love with Michelle. She should be called the First Badass. She is exactly what I would want my little girl (Suzanna Christine – that name is under trademark) to be like.

Anyway, I was starting to fall out of love with her husband. A lack of affordable healthcare, to me, is as much of a human rights violation as Gitmo (also a horrific human rights violation, in my opinion). I was getting frustrated with the promises to deliver on the work earnestly started by the late Senator Kennedy and current next-President of the United States Hillary Clinton (readyforhillary.com GIVE MONEY). Hell’s bells, get it done! It’s the 21st century for pity’s sake. There is a solution for almost every problem. It is inhumane not to help sick people. Full stop.

FINALLY, Obamacare launched and I was thrilled (and back in love). I became more giddy every time I heard about a stupid ACA attack ad in a red state or a website glitch or one of Congress’ attempts to thwart the good work.

Because there is goodness at the heart of this work and I just knew it would work. Haters gotta hate and they usually have a swift kick in the butt at the end of the day, delivered by Auntie Kharma.

The long-term success of Obamacare is not clear. But, I think Obama and Uncle Joe’s press conference let us know: this is working.

Over 7 million people have health coverage. Hell, there is an entire FB page devoted to ACA success stories. That’s enough to be considered a triumph. There will be more problems and it will not be a success story for everyone. Imagine the odds of everyone not being pleased in a country whose population sports a net gain of one person every 15 seconds…I’m #shocked.

No matter what color you are (red or blue) we can all agree it is a good thing when a sick person is given medical attention. 7 million folks now have that option.

God bless the hard work of all of the people who brought this together. And god bless the United States of America.

Well played, Mr. President. This should be a part of my BRAVERY PROJECT.

BRAVERY PROJECT: guest blogger: Chantelle Edwards, “Live to make a difference – the essence of brave”

Posted on by lauraanneayres

I hope all of you find Chantelle’s words as profound as I do. I admire her bravery in sharing them. Follow this project at @BeforeYouBook

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I Am Brave

by: Chantelle Edwards

Wow. That’s something I never thought I would hear myself say. For some reason it doesn’t seem humble, and indeed insignificant. When I place that title on the people that I hold high on my list of role models: Nelson Mandela, Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King; who am I?

Then I read one of my best friends projects where she mentioned the little things that no one knows that you’ve done, that just might change a course of action and inspire someone else. These people took those actions without knowing the outcome and that is the bravery. Yet still I have a problem with that statement, it’s slightly self boasting. As a mother how do I inspire my children to be brave without truly verbalising and showing them what that means? So I write this to my Son and my Daughter, and someday you will read and comprehend that if you are ever deterred on a course of action that is the right path; be brave. Hopefully I am physically there, but even if not, somewhere up there your Mummy is looking down on you, holding your hand through what you know is the right thing to do. It is not about what we think the outcome will be, but who you truly are inside.

My Story

Define who you are

You may both go through times at school where you will be teased and or bullied. I hope not. I remember spending some lunch times in the toilets. I remember the taunts I had for the size of my bust. By the way they will be an asset later on in life. I remember feeling so different I tried to rub off the colour of my skin. It was red raw and the irony was the scar that was left was darker than my skin. In these years you are going to truly discover yourself, embrace yourself and be brave to love you; for who you are. The true beauty will be who you are inside and what you do. My first act of bravery was to accept this, my second act was to step in when another girl was being bullied and save her from a fate that I had experienced before. Stand up for yourself and others.

Define how you act in injustice

I really hope the issues your Daddy and I have faced will not exist; however, at the current pace there will likely still be prejudice due to your ethnicity and for you my daughter your gender. To my son remember you have a mother, sister and hopefully one day maybe even a daughter. Treat every woman with respect and equality. Now back to the bravery point. There have been times when I haven’t got what I needed, wanted or probably deserved because of the colour of my skin or my gender.

Funny episode number one was sending my CV via a friend to a company who apparently loved my CV, but “could I just attach a picture?” This was not necessary in England, but is in Switzerland, and suddenly my CV was no good. When I did have a role being told women are paid less was a big morale breaker. Lesson one: you can choose to react negatively or choose your battles. Your Papa (Granddad) told me “you will have to work harder than everyone else, you may be more educated but you still may not get the job, but keep on going because one day things will change.” He was unfortunately right. Lesson two make sure you get your education it will stand you in good stead and remember generation after generation things change.

 

Funny episode two was the unemployment office telling me I was nothing in Switzerland and was obviously no good. I persevered week after week retrained to work in a new skill, and learned a new language (you already speak four). Moral of this story (lesson three): is that some people may want to put you down, be brave, focus on positive energy and action to change the situation. Know that you are the content of your character, and don’t let someone else’s judgement of your skin colour affect you, do not give them the power. Lesson four, you may need to be flexible and adapt to life and the circumstances: retrain, reskill, move location but you can do anything you put your mind to trust me; I know and see it in the both of you. By the way your Daddy wouldn’t marry me just to get a Visa. He wanted to do it in his own time. So this was a very stressful time. I managed to stay in Switzerland on my own accord and your Daddy asked me to marry him after I got my Visa. Your Daddy is amazing and we married for love. Lesson five make: sure that you marry for love.

Funny or actually not so funny episode 3. As part of my reskilling I trained to teach yoga. Well you’ve probably heard your Daddy complain about my sweaty yoga pants; so this isn’t new. But a long time ago I taught a style called Bikram back in 2013 a number of cases were brought against Bikram which alleged harassment and rape as well as settled out of court cases on racism. There were several accusations where corruption, bullying and unethical behaviour took place. I remember being in a lecture at Teacher Training where the content was that gay people deserve to die from aids, all fat people should be put on one island to starve and a number of degrading comments to women. One: your Mummy stood up in a very cult environment and gave feedback on the quality of the training and unethical content (my heart did race). Two: when the allegations then started to come out I was not silent, despite losing the ability to teach at the studio, and the abuse in the community. I moved on and taught for your aunty Susanne which was bliss and kept my integrity. Lesson six: integrity is everything. There are times where the impact may be negative, but it goes to the very core of who you are, that doing nothing would let injustice prevail. Stand up for what you believe in. Your heart may race but Mummy is there.

Funny Episode 4. In Switzerland to get an apartment you have to put you nationality, what car you drive, religion and actually this may seem normal for you as this is where you were born. Trust me in England this is not the case it is based on can you pay and your previous references. You should see the places where we have lived, but purely because that was all we could get.   I would visit places where there were over a 100 people at the viewing and make an effort to speak to the people in German, but they would look at me with disgust. I was not Swiss and black. Just before you were born my daughter, we actually almost had nowhere to live. We stayed at your aunty Jas’s while I urgently looked for a place to live. I had to write to the prospective landlord and explain that we were going to be like Mary, Joseph and Baby Jesus on the street. The phone never rang so quick; suddenly we had a flat! It used to be the ex-drug lord’s apartment, and even though we both had upper class incomes for Switzerland we were lucky we could get that given my skin colour. After that we bought. I never wanted to go through that again. Lesson number seven: if you ever need anything please obviously come to me, but aunty Jas will also be there for you. Lesson number eight: have good friends just like aunty Jas they are worth their weight in gold. Lesson number nine: try and establish empathy. Okay comparing yourself to Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus is extreme but I was 7 months pregnant and it got into the Swiss psyche. Even if you know the way that they are treating you is unfair, be brave start to get them to think about you as a person, and know you beyond a stereotype. When your Papa (granddad) first came to England they used to have signs “no dogs, not blacks and no Irishmen,” so this was a big leap forward. Bravery is sometimes about the long game and things will change. There are moments where you need to take big steps of bravery, and moment’s small seemingly silent ones that change people’s hearts and minds.

Funny episodes 5 to 15+. Well I have lost the number of times that I have been asked at interview if I’m pregnant? Am I planning to get pregnant? Why I want to work if I have kids and indeed not to work because I have kids! There are not enough fingers and toes for these questions, hence the number of episodes. I choose to work. I choose to use my mind that I had educated, worked on and to make a difference. I hope that you never felt left out. I visited your day care before I made the choice to go back to work, and make sure that it was a place where you would have fun: sledging, building fires in the woods, free play, making friends and learning how to be social. I got up at 5 am in the morning so that I could be there when you come home and wrap my arms around you for cuddles, play puzzles, draw, count, do your ABC’s, bake, play in the paddling pool in the summer, build snowmen in the winter, bath time, read the 5 + books you demand at night with my rapping of verse, Gruffalo voice and Jamaican accent that your aunty makes me put on over Skype for Mama God and Papa God a Caribbean tale. That said bravery is sometimes doing what is the right choice for you and your family even if it is against what society expects. I may be paid less because I am a working Mummy, but just somewhere out there, may be, I give someone hope. I also hope I role model to you my daughter that you have a choice. You can stay at home or work it is up to you both are hard work, and to my son you are ½ Scandinavian you support strong women to have that choice.  Lesson number ten: don’t put anyone down for their choice there is too much in fighting about how people should live their lives, every family is different and they do what is right for their family. Lesson number eleven: do what is right for your family period!

Live to Make a Difference

I guess this is the essence of brave. My whole life has orientated to this point. I am just now about to lead a huge program that affects childhood development globally and start a new business which will make such a difference to people’s lives, giving them more time on the things they love with the people that they love. I am hoping by the time you are reading this I have put in place a legacy that benefits future generations It’s funny even when you were both in my womb I think it was you that taught me to be brave. Somehow you have given me more strength then before. How can I make the world better for you? Every decision is about you and our family. The time we spend together and the happiness we have. So bravery lesson number twelve: whatever your dreams are – go do it, be happy, don’t be afraid and don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t.

So in a way ‘I am Brave’ but somehow we started to have this dialogue before you were even born and you taught me the true meaning of brave.

 

BRAVERY PROJECT: guest blogger: Stephanie Rodousakis – Stephanie’s love letter to Sophia Mina

Posted on by lauraanneayres

Bravery Project: Steph’s one hell of a brave Momma. Follow this project at @BeforeYouBook

lauraanneayres's avatarThe World of Before You

I am honored to feature my friend Stephanie’s blog post. Many of my own followers on social media have prayed for Stephanie, her husband Michael, and their baby girl. Many of you all shed a tear when Sophia Mina was taken from this world. Stephanie has generously allowed me to highlight her thoughts and we are both hoping they will help all of us understand the grief process a little bit better.

On a personal note, I am so proud of the woman, wife, and mother you are, my friend. Thank you for sharing this with my community.

I give you Stephanie’s thoughts and her website (http://sophiamina.wordpress.com)…

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As I reflect on the last 9 months, I think about the victories and the defeats, the smiles and the tears, the anxiety and the relief. So many emotions that filled not only me, but everyone who somehow is a part of…

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BRAVERY PROJECT: Mark Doyle (BBC journalist) writes about bravery

Posted on by lauraanneayres

Mark Doyle (BBC journalist) writes about bravery

Who is brave? Read about: Captain Mbaye Diagne, a United Nations peacekeeper in Rwanda.

Inspirational. “Capt. Mbaye Diagne was in his mid-30s, from a small village in northern Senegal, and a man of immense charm. Tall, gap-toothed and easygoing in Aviator sunglasses, his humour put people at their ease even in one of the darkest chapters of modern history.”

Follow my Bravery Project at @BeforeYouBook

BRAVERY PROJECT – Show me your brave

Posted on by lauraanneayres

Think of the Top Ten bravest people in your daily life. Why do you consider them brave? What constitutes an act of bravery?

We can all point to clear examples of bravery: Malala Yousafzai, normal people stepping in when the Boston marathon bomb went off, the teachers at Sandy Hook, the fire-fighting heroes in West, Harvey Milk, Hillary Clinton & Ted Kennedy, police officers. The list is long and their accomplishments are amazing and awe-inspiring.

Great. What about you?

I’m one of the 10 bravest people I know. It’s not arrogance – I work for that title. I would love to hide in a cubicle, hide in my beautiful flat, hide with the people I already know well. Can’t do it. It isn’t brave. I make it my mission to be on my own top ten list. Things I am not on my own top ten list of include: fashionista, fabulous singer, fabulous writer, etc. Most of my readers know that I am a deeply-flawed gal; however, I am brave.

I fight like hell to be brave. I use my voice, my education, my website, and anything else I can utilize to fight things like poverty, injustice, and ignorance. I speak up for people suffering unjustly. I do not always get heard and rarely get things done exactly the way I want. Not the point.

Here’s the real kicker about bravery: sometimes you fall flat on your face. Sometimes you say words that are hard to say and the other person laughs at you. Sometimes you fight something and you lose the battle (but maybe not the war…go Hillary & Teddy, now we have Obamacare). Here’s the reverse kicker – nothing can diminish brave. Brave is too strong to be diminished by a “no.”

So, what do you decide? Safe walk or bravely blazing a trail?

Start thinking of yourself as brave. Did you start your own company this year? Did you admit to a big mistake? Did you write to a government official? Did you commit yourself to volunteer work? Did you lose 20 pounds? Did you use your website or FB status to really make a thoughtful statement promoting tolerance or education (Mike Mayes and Tony Barrese, y’all always inspire me)? Did you lose a loved one and make it through without becoming a crack addict? All those things might seem “small.” I assure you, there is bravery within each of them.

I’ve never ever seen on-the-spot bravery announced with glitter and rainbows. Not once. Bravery doesn’t look like much to most people, it’s something you do that makes you, sorry curse word-haters, scared shitless.

I just came from my sanctuary in Luzern where I heard something amazing, “Only deep inside of you can you hear who you really are.” There is a small voice inside of all of us calling us to be…brave. So, do it. If you need inspiration, I love this song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xwTr_CRw3GY What a fantastic message. “I just wanna see you be brave.” (Songwriters: BAREILLES, SARA / ANTONOFF, JACK Brave lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC)

Anyone who has a story of bravery, I don’t care if you saved a child or an opera company or 50 bucks…whatever you think “brave” is, share your story somewhere. You can be a guest blogger for me. You can post it on my FB page (Before You). Post it on your own. Be bold.

Show me…how big your brave is. Follow this project at @BeforeYouBook

Snow was a good start, Big Guy. Soli deo gloria.

Posted on by lauraanneayres

It’s 11PM in my little village in Switzerland. I had a D-A-Y.

I have been begging God for snow for months. MONTHS. During this time, I wrote a poem about snow, it was set to music (holla Jackson Henry), I sang said new song “Snow” at a concert 3 weeks ago. Here’s the annoying part…

This part of Switzerland has been snow-less. Literally, I haven’t seen snow for months here. I chased snow a few weeks ago and found nothing. Every time I say, “I just want one good snow,” someone inevitably says, “You’ll have to go to the snow because it’s done for this year.” What is truly annoying about this line? Many of these people either own chalets or take rather physically-demanding ski tours in the same way I take baths. It is easy for them to say “go to the snow.”

I can’t go to the snow. The snow requires me to climb or snowshoe or do something. My back hurts 80% of the time I am awake. I’m lucky to make it, by train and bus, to my church. I can go out once a day for a few hours.

Don’t cry for me Argentina. Anyway, today, with the hurt back (it was KILLING me this morning), I went to church this morning. Before I left, it was really cold and raining. I told God, “Whatever. It’s cold, but that is rain.” This is a conversation I have with Him almost everyday (sunny days, “Whatever, I get it. No more snow.” foggy days, “To cover up the possibility of some snow? Very funny.” etc.).

Anyway, while I was at church, I said something to God I have never said before because it’s a really difficult time right now, for many reasons:

Please stop. Everything hurts. Please remember that I am your child. I am faithful. Please stop hurting me. Be with me.

I’m not kidding. I couldn’t kneel because it makes my back hurt. I bent one knee and sort of semi-leaned over. I said I was thankful for strong legs, a strong spirit, and a strong heart. I prayed for a few people (including Nicole’s Tito, Iryna’s country, Liv’s next project, Marisa’s new job, N’s heart, Cindy’s new journey without John, and some others). Then, I said what I said about myself.

Regardless of the back “situation,” I went to Bibiana and gave her a fresh rose and a candle. I got on a bus and I traveled home. Within about 30 minutes, there was a serious hail storm. My FB status changed to, “HAIL IS NOT SNOW!”

I started up work on my ongoing project (translating the brochure for the Hospice from German/French to English). About five minutes after I sat down,  I looked at the window.

“Slowly formed, something more…not a storm, just some flakes.”

It wasn’t an angry hailstorm anymore, and it wasn’t rain.

It was snow. After months of no snow. I turned off external things and I’ve been sitting for hours without sound. “As it shimmers and glistens, we stop and listen…what if snow never came? What if love never paused? To make a moment when the snow covered us all.”

I’m still mad at You. Really mad. But, it’s 11PM and You’re still here and it’s still snowing.

Soli deo gloria.

Am I disposable? Are you?

Posted on by lauraanneayres

I am profoundly struck by Pope Francis’ recent remarks, “Young people at the moment are in crisis. We have all become accustomed to this disposable culture. We do the same thing with the elderly…they are afflicted by a culture where everything is disposable. We have to stop this habit of throwing things away. We need a culture of inclusion.”

Have we all, young and old, become an “i-generation” that is focused primarily on disposing of everything easily?

Let’s think about things that are disposable: razorblades, diapers, tires. Yes, they are easy to throw away and that is convenient. But, where do they go when they’ve been disposed of? I mean, it all goes somewhere, right? One of the many things I love about Switzerland, they make it hard and expensive for you to dispose of “trash.” Well done.

As disturbing as our “I have to dispose of this thing easily” fixation is, the extension of this desire to toss that which is not immediately necessary is truly shocking: people are also disposable.

I get in a fight with someone? I delete them from my FB page, Twitter followers, contact list. I’m annoyed with another person? I ignore phone calls and emails. I am having a hard time, so I don’t ask a follow-up to the answer, “I’m alright, I guess.” I’m busily running to work? I cut through a crowd of people like a knife through butter…who cares if I ran into a guy with a broken arm. He’ll survive.

Because people are disposable. Their feelings, their pursuits of happiness, their future plans…their very lives. Look at a newspaper. In today’s newspaper in Zürich: a 3-year old was shot by the Mafia in Rome, a plane full of human beings disappeared in thin air, Ukrainians are fighting for their very lives, and five other awful stories revolving around human suffering as the world watches.

It all points to a bigger issue – one that is truly terrifying in 2014 (we should be well-educated, well-aware) – we are disposing of other people.  It’s medieval, a human as a pawn to get me what I want or as a shield to protect me from something that’s scaring or attacking me. That chess piece? is a person – someone’s son or daughter. Let that sink in.

I used to have a weekly visit with a homeless man that lived in under a bridge in Luzern. I called him “Herbert” because I never could get him to clearly state his name and it was one of those “Shit, it’s been months now and I’m too embarrassed to ask him again” scenarios. 8 times out of 10, Herbert was asleep or passed out, but I’d always leave him a coffee and croissant. When he was awake or semi-sober, he called me his Engeli. I think “Herbert” is in my book, by the way. Anyway, he disappeared one day. After a year under the same bridge, living on the same bench. I think he must have felt disposable, but he wasn’t disposable to me. That was 3 years ago and I still think of Herbert at least three times a week.

It’s inhumane to think of another person’s life like we think of a piece of trash or to call someone’s death “collateral damage.” It is a slippery slope between the decision to ignore a person’s suffering and the decision to disregard that person’s life entirely.

What if the person you’re ignoring could be made better by one chat over coffee? What if the iPhone you just threw away could be refurbished and sent to a small village in Africa? Is that a huge imposition? What if a weekly “hello” to a homeless man ends up being the last time someone said “hello” to him? Still think it’s okay to consider another person as “disposable” or have I convinced you that people and things are not disposable yet?

It’s not a Christian or Jewish or gay or straight or black or white issue to me. It’s a humanitarian one. People are not disposable and neither are razorblades or iPhones or books. Anything that has been created is a part of creation and has a space on this Earth. As the Pope said, we must start to reflect on and acknowledge the intrinsic value of creation. Maybe that’s a start.

 

Allerseelen by Strauss

Posted on by lauraanneayres

Former President George H. W. Bush had good, practical advice about public speaking under emotionally-challenging circumstances. When he had to speak at the funeral once, he read the speech over and over again, attempting to pull the emotional attachment out of the words. When I heard that story, I thought it was a good idea, but not particularly brave (no disrespect). I think it’s a hell of a lot braver to be real and real people get choked up.

There was a song on my concert last week called “Allerseelen.” It’s about a couple and they have clearly been through the ringer (By the way, what this story is not about…is a dead person…and somewhere in Steiermark, a dashing, white-haired German poet is screaming, “ENDLICH.”):

Put the flowers on the table and let’s talk about love, like we used to. Give me your hand, I’ll hold it in secret. If someone sees? I don’t give a damn! Give me just one more of your sweet looks. Everything is new and fresh again – there is one day every year when even the dead come back to life – come back to me! I need you back, my love! The way we used to be. How we used to be.

Any smart singer in my situation would avoid this song like the plague. I have rarely performed it in public since 2011 without crying a little bit because it reminds me of, well, my own “sweet look”er. When I began preparation for the Hospice benefit, I found it in my “old recitals” folder. “Allerseelen” is my song. It is set by Strauss (who writes for my voice type), it is in German (liebe the German), text is amazing (I’m a nerd) and it has breathtaking piano & vocal marriage.

If the concert in honor of the Hospice was going to be my best, I needed to sing it. My “sweet look”er has never attended one of my concerts and doesn’t particularly like opera anyway. If I did cry, it would be minimal and not ugly Oprah cry (with snot). The song went on the program. Easy.

Nope. In the telenovela that is my life, my “sweet look”er would attend the concert and stand in my eye line throughout the entire concert, including during “Allerseelen,” which I was singing to him, though he didn’t know it and thankfully never will because he never reads this blog.

Papa Bush is right. It is hard to sing or speak when you cry or when you are seriously attached to the text (in an emotional way). It might make the message more about you and less about the message.

But, for my “sweet look”er and the hell we have been put through? Well, it was worth that tear, that lump in the throat possibly coming in. It wasn’t easy for him to come to the concert and it wasn’t easy for me to sing (see previous post). We were both brave last Sunday and the result is that I didn’t cry during “Allerseelen” because it was our song and I was singing it to him. It wasn’t sad, it was beautiful.

Ein Tag im Jahr ist ja den Toten frei, komm an mein Herz, dass ich dich wieder habe, wie einst im Mai.

Wie einst im Mai, indeed.

 

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I am not Maria Callas, I am Jessica Fletcher from Murder She Wrote

Posted on by lauraanneayres

I learned a tough lesson yesterday, really tough: sometimes my “best” is simply not possible. Especially after I’ve neglected my health, my well-being, and, well, myself.

I was this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Ra7U547z-w but now I’m someone that has to wear a back brace to sing simple songs.

Listen, don’t cry for me Argentina. I have no doubt that Mimi, Contessa, Pamina, Fiordiligi, Euridice, a wicked Callas impression, etc. are all still hidden in my body somewhere. I know I can find them again someday, if I want to.

But it sure as hell won’t happen Sunday. My best for Sunday was really broken down yesterday by my amazing collaborator, Iryna. Where am I now? What is my best today, not in 2007 or 2009 or even 2012?

That was a hard moment for me. My best today looks nothing like my best from just one year ago. Before, it was just stress. Now? I can’t walk sometimes.

Bach wrote SDG at the end of a many of his works – Soli Deo Gloria – “to God alone be the glory.” That’s part of my “best” and my best because both the inflated version of what I can do and the ground-level-getting-real version purpose together to meet that goal: give it to God.

My best for Sunday will be singing a nice concert. It won’t be singing my beloved arias because my body simply cannot do it. It won’t be looking super glamorous because I look exactly how I feel, which is hopeful but tired. The hardest “it won’t be” is that this concert won’t be what I want.

But the event will be exactly what I want. My friends, the good ones that don’t say “uh, I’m just, uh, not feeling, uh”…they will be there. Probably one or two strangers will be there. Iryna will be there. God bless him, Canon José Mittaz of Grand St. Bernard will come down from a mountain, take a 4-hour journey…and be there. Everyone will be talking about the place I love: the Hospice du Grand St. Bernard.

So, it was enough of a reason to drag my body out of bed, to the couch, turn on the heating pad (my boyfriend), and type these words. I see my phone and want to SMS Jackson (“Snow” will be amazing) and also get a cup of coffee, but Jessica Fletcher needs to stay on her heating pad.

SDG