One Split Second: Cataclysm And Rebirth 276hn

Copyright © 2013 by Lollie Whitman Margolin. 126621-MARG

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Rev. Date 06/26/2013

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To my grandchildren for whom I HAD to live

To my children who made it possible for me to live

To the loving friends and medical personnel who held my hand through the harrowing weeks and months.

Blessed Be

“Memory is the guardian of all things.”

Cicero

Time is a continuum, stretching forward and back infinitely.

* * *

After a nasty and bitter argument, I jumped out of the car and stood by the side of the road. Looking to the heavens I implored, “Lord, how much longer am I going to have to live with this man?”

I was unaware that the answer was… eight days.

Prologue

August 14, 1988

11 PM

“We’re losing her.”

This I heard through a haze . . . .

Our children were notified about midnight, a shocking wake-up call on a Sunday night.

* * *

I felt someone holding my hand… my left hand. Through closed lids, I “saw” flashing lights, heard crackling sounds. A woman kept asking me if I was Mrs. Whitman.

“Yes.” I mumbled.

“Who else was in the boat?” No answer. Again, the question. Finally, “My husband.”

After a while I heard the soft voice, “Mrs. Whitman, I’m sorry if we’re hurting you, but we have to keep pulling.” I wasn’t hurting… yet. Later… .”We may have to take you out without your foot.” I didn’t mind. I told her to do whatever she had to. It didn’t seem important.

Seconds or hours later I felt many hands on me. I yelped. “MY ARM!”

1

It’s been many years. It’s unbelievable that this happened so long ago.

The calendar tells of time ing, but in my heart this all happened yesterday. I continue to live with it, but will not have that “poor me” feeling. My eyes do fill with tears when I’m alone and I think about that August night. Recently, I found another sliver in my scalp. Not unlike a mini volcano, my scalp occasionally spews out small pieces of glass and then closes up. I scratched it gingerly, and out came a rather large shard. Long after the accident, I’m still shedding glass!

* * *

The accident occurred on Lake George, a jewel in the crown of the Adirondack Mountains in upstate New York.

The night before, Saturday night, we were standing on the deck of our vacation home quietly watching the beauty of the setting sun over the mountains. My husband, Jules, had planned to buy me a 3 carat diamond . As we spoke about this I suddenly said,” I am never going to have that diamond”.

Puzzled, he asked, “Why not?”

“ I don’t know why”, I answered, “I just know it’s not going to happen.”

2

Our first venture to the North Country was shortly after Jules Whitman and I were married. We chose that area on the recommendation of my parents who had visited a nearby town. We began our Lake George life in a charming small motel called “Sunnyshores,”in Bolton Landing, New York. We didn’t have a car, went north by bus, and stayed in what was called the “slave quarters”; an unbroken line of cabins with one shared bathroom in the center. The rate for these “luxurious” accommodations was six dollars and fifty cents a night, or six dollars nightly for the week. Since our finances were limited, we cooked on grills at the public campgrounds many evenings.

We sat in the main lodge after dinner, where Jules played poker with the “big guys” and I prayed that we’d have enough gas money left to get home. There we met people who were to be our good friends for many years.

That summer we fell in love with The Lake. I discovered a profound peace there. This was important as there was little peace in our marriage. Nonetheless, the following summer we returned with an eight week old baby, our first child, Claire.

Much to everyone’s chagrin, the motel was sold, not once but twice. The second time, as a research facility for Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. This left several “refugees” wandering around The Lake searching for a second home, as few of us were ready to give up our summer weekends in the north country, or our camaraderie.

We eventually bought a condominium on The Lake where we had made many

friends. We had a good life there, at the Cannon Point Condominium. We were in our boat whenever the weather permitted; we sailed with friends, tied up to larger boats in a small bay with Barbara and Jason Baker, picnicked on many of the small islands on The Lake, had Fourth of July and Labor Day picnics/parties with our special friends, Marge and Don Sorensen, and Ruth and Al Knipe. Thanksgiving and New Year’s were beautiful up in the north country.

Many days during the week between Christmas and New Year’s, we spent with our neighbors, the Fourth of July and Labor Day picnics, playing bridge before the fire, watching the snow fall.. BJ Roemer usually had a pot of potato-leek soup on the stove, and an open bottle of wine near the bridge table. All of our children would head for the steaming soup pot after returning from the ski slopes. Our children, especially our youngest, Lloyd, were with us much of the time.

We celebrated many holidays with our friends’ families in each other’s homes. It snowed the first Thanksgiving that we all spent together. I how excited we were. Lloyd was in his first semester at Brown University, as was our neighbor’s son. They had traveled from Ithaca, New York, to be with us.

We rushed to get our cross-country skis, and the of all four families skied together down the long driveway. The fat, round snowflakes fell in our faces; we caught them on our tongues. We had fun.

* * *

I was sorry to leave Cannon Point. Jules wanted a private home and waterfront. We ultimately found a lovely house across The Lake on the east side. There were about two wooded acres with three hundred feet of waterfront. The interior was luxurious. We had a beautiful wood stove, a built in sauna, a hot tub for six and

an “escape hatch” for our Two dogs that led out to an enclosure for them. This was IT! Jules was finally in his palace.

He had two truckloads of fine sand brought to the waterfront, thereby creating a small beach for the little ones. There was a small out-building nearby with storage for the boat gear and sand toys. Inside, we put a small frig and created a private area for a porta-potty, as not all the grandkids were fully “house trained”. Jules was a great believer in creature comforts.

Every summer afternoon about five-thirty I would lie in the hammock at the lake’s edge with my book, music, and cocktail. Rarely would I listen to my music or read my book, preferring to hear the frog-sounds and bird-trills while watching the ever moving waters. I would have been content to spend all of my summer evenings curled up in that hammock. We were together, in that house, for nine short months.

3

Sunday, August 14, 1988, started out as a lovely day, with an excellent forecast. We were joyously planning a swim-picnic for our son, Lloyd, to take place the following weekend in celebration of the completion of his Doctorate in Physics at Cornell University. It was to be a catered party for approximately forty people.

That day we had been invited to picnic across the lake with the Knipes, Sorensens and another couple, the Rolands. Since the night before, I had had a BAD feeling. I attempted to convince Jules that we weren’t meant to be in the boat on that day. I suggested that we drive around the lake, instead of boating across. He disagreed vehemently declaring that it would take fifteen minutes to boat over but forty-five to drive. I tried to explain to him that we just weren’ t meant to be in the boat. I emphasized that I had a bad feeling.

I am fully aware that many people think that Extra Sensory Perception, (ESP), is nonsense, but it IS real. It’s akin to a sixth sense, a heightening of awareness. I believe that if I am given knowledge, I am meant to act upon it. ESP has been significant in my life. Perhaps it is genetic, as my father was precognitive. Many times I’ve had advance knowledge of things to come. There are theoretical physicists who seriously discuss this and other phenomena that are often looked upon as irrational or “new age stuff”, but when it’s always been part of your life it’s very real. People often deny the existence of angels and other unseen helpers in our lives, however, if we’ve had these experiences we can attest to the fact that they do exist. There are things all around us that we can’t see yet we know that they are as real as the wind. I believe that I’ve averted a few unpleasant happenings in the past, by “knowing” about them. Some people are gifted at accessing the unseen.

Perhaps I could have refused to go with Jules. He probably wouldn’t have gone without me. Those who knew him understood what a strong, “bulldozer” of a personality he had. We had argued often. (At least one couple declined to go out with us as our disputes were so frequent.) The remark had been made that I had to live with him, but they didn’t.

He finally wore down my resolve; I agreed to accompany him in the boat, despite prescient misgivings. We arrived without incident, but I remained quite anxious. We picnicked on the grounds of Cannon Point as we had often done. Somewhere about five or six o’clock a storm, unpredicted by the Vermont weather station, blew up, bringing with it thunder, lightning, and heavy rain. I hurried to the shelter of the Roland’s condo while Jules ran to the dock to cover the boat before ing us. We sat and talked, eating and drinking for about two hours. When the storm ed, the sky cleared, and stars were visible overhead. Jules then uncovered the boat. His shirt was rain-soaked and he borrowed Frank Roland’s. When he returned I told him again that I had “ bad vibes” about being in the boat, and our friends had offered to drive us home. However, Jules was emphatic about returning by boat, with me or without me. I didn’t want to be in that boat, but I was reluctant to allow him to go alone. Attempting to overcome my fear, I ed him.

* * *

JULES: He was in many ways a flawed person. He lived in his own world of magical thinking, and believed that all would be well because he wanted it to be.

He was an obsessive eater, and spender. If he earned six figures in a given year, he spent seven. He had no stop signs. Although I always knew he loved me dearly, he had a childish desire for instant gratification. He loved “toys”. These were BIG toys such as houses, boats and cars.

As a father, he was loving but erratic. Some things that the kids did wouldn’t bother him one day, would annoy him the next. He’d make a promise, and forget all about it when the promise came due, but would apologize profusely. These traits caused ferocious arguments between us through all of our marriage. He was the parent who, because of a flexible schedule, could go on school trips and take the children to their college dorm rooms.

In spite of our many differences, Jules and I had a tremendous attraction to each other. We loved to dance, and at weddings or parties, people often stepped back to watch us. It was obvious that our bodies moved well together, and they did in every way through our time together, until, and including, the last night of his life.

* * *

All was well until we caught up to the storm as we traveled east. We became enveloped in a black inky fog that swallowed us. We were unable see each other’s faces. I longed to see the lights from our dock, but no lights could be seen anywhere. We were unaware that fate had intervened… there had been a four minute power failure due to the storm. Jules was standing, as he always did when at the helm. I was standing next to him. The last words I ever said to him in this life were, “Honey, be careful!” Then, to myself, “Sit down and be still, he IS being careful.”

As we attempted to use the hand-directed flood light mounted on the bow, the fog threw the light back into our faces as sparkling droplets of water. We could see only black. I sitting down in the front enger’s seat. That’s the last thing I .

We had lost our bearings in the deep fog, ed our “turn”,and had continued

south instead of southeast. We were in the wrong bay. We had been looking for the marina that was situated at the mouth of our bay. Bright spot lights were usually glowing there.. BUT the power failure had occurred at exactly the moment that we ed the bay! We had continued in a southerly direction and had hit an unmarked, unlit, concrete dock lying low in the water.

I have no recollection of the impact. The fact that I had been seated allowed me a chance to survive. I was later told that the crash had made a sound not unlike an explosion, and was heard by two young men on the island nearby. They had seen our boat circling as it was rapidly spiraling down, deeper into the lake. We hadn’t been traveling more than ten or twelve mph. Jules had been standing, with his hand on the throttle; and as he had been thrown forward at impact, the throttle was also thrown forward into a “full-out”, fast-forward, position. (This was the one fact that subsequently enabled the insurance company to deny all my claims.)

4

The of the first-aid squad had recognized our boat, the “Bagatelle”, and had known that we were friends of an Albany couple, our friends Barbara and Jason Baker. The Sheriff had called them, and they in turn, had called our son, Lloyd, at Cornell University, in Ithaca, New York. He then had notified our daughter, Claire. (Our younger daughter, Ronni, was on a trip, on route, and could not be reached.) I can’t imagine what a horror it must have been to have received that call close to midnight, informing you that your father had been killed and your mother was not expected to survive the night. (Jason Baker had also called a friend of ours, Dick Sobol, the Rabbi of a nearby Temple.)

At first, the of the First-Aid squad hadn’t seen me as I was partially under water in the small cabin, with my left foot embedded in the fiberglass hull. Various parts of the cabin, including the built-in toilet, the “head”, had become loose at impact, and had landed on me. I had been thrown through the teak storage closet situated in front of the enger’s seat, into the cabin. We had kept bottles and glasses there. The windshield had shattered and showered me with glass. (Some spots always itch!)

* * *

There was some confusion as to who had been in the boat, as Jules had been wearing Frank Roland’s shirt with Frank’s laundry mark. The Sheriff had been afraid that there might have been other engers in the boat and had sent frogmen into the water to search.

Although I had heard the crackling of the Sheriff’s police radio, at first I did not

identify its origin. Divers had been sent into the water. I heard, and processed this information while unconscious. I became very anxious. I KNEW that Jules was dead. I called it “gone” but I didn’t know where he was. I feared that he was lost in the water. It wasn’t until MUCH later at the hospital that my daughter, Claire, told me where he was. She told me he was “downstairs”. I immediately knew that meant the morgue. Finally, I knew where he was.

I had never asked where I was, nor what had happened. Somehow, I knew. I was in and out of consciousness while in the boat. I was assured that they would extricate me. I didn’t realize that my foot couldn’t be dislodged at first. Later, I learned that the sheriff had left the scene and returned with the equipment known as “the jaws of life”, thereby finally succeeding in freeing me. I know I was very calm, perhaps in shock, and I had told them that they should do whatever they thought was necessary, even if it meant leaving my left foot behind. I believe that I had been trapped in the boat for quite a while, perhaps close to two hours. Sometime during those hours I apparently had been under water. Attempts were being made to move me as quickly as possible… they were losing me. As I was being moved to the ambulance I recall that I screamed. My right arm and chest hurt terribly. They later had told me it had appeared that my back might be broken. A special back board had been used to lift me from the boat. I don’t the ride to the hospital, but I do know that as they wheeled me in I woke up and had asked, “Excuse me, but is this a trauma unit?” That must be the epitome of “chutzpah”! They had assured me, that even though it wasn’t a trauma unit, I would be well cared for…and, surely, I was.

In the emergency room, I had peeked at my right arm. I saw it encased it in a kind of inflated balloon-like restraint I had thought was very clever, and had said so. I was somehow very impressed with it.

Although unaware of it then, in one split second, the moment of impact had changed my world forever.

The ER

5

In order to insert an intravenous line it was necessary to do a “cut down” procedure, because my veins had “shut down.” They had to use a major vein in my neck. They asked about the location of my pain. The doctors were looking for distention in the abdomen, believing correctly that I had internal bleeding. Ordinarily, when there’s internal bleeding, the abdomen is distended. As my pelvic and pubic bones were fractured, the blood seeped to my back delaying a proper diagnosis of the ruptured liver. I was told that I was in need of blood. I asked them to wait until my kids got to the hospital as we all had the same A positive blood type. That was not an option as I was in very critical condition. I was assured that their blood was untainted. I heard someone say “We’ve given her 5 pints, where is it all going?” Still, I remained calm and unafraid.

. While in the emergency room, Rabbi, Dick Sobol, was with me. I proceeded to give him all of my children’ s telephone numbers, informed him that our two dogs had been in the house since three o’clock and needed to be let out and fed. I gave him the name and address of the kennel that we regularly used. I knew I wasn’t going home in a hurry. I was able to tell him where we had just been and the names and phone numbers. Later, he said that he almost didn’t write anything down, as it was difficult to believe that I possibly could have been alert enough to be accurate. I had it all correct, despite a whopping knock to the head and a nasty concussion. I was given a CT scan to determine the condition of my “innards”. I was “hyper,” and couldn’t stop wiggling or talking. The first scan wasn’t effective but when I insisted that I had intense back pain, they took another scan and discovered the ruptured liver.

* * *

Many years after this horrific event, I have often been told something new. This

has happened periodically over time and never ceases to “freak me out.” I was explaining to my daughter Ronni that yesterday my acupuncturist had diagnosed me according to a Chinese medicine chart, and found that the “Chi” of my liver was out of balance. (The “Chi”, as I understand it, is the total alignment of meridians of the body, including all internal organs.) Ronni replied that she wasn’t surprised, as the doctors had previously told my children that my liver looked as if it had “been through a meat grinder”. They also had been informed, while I was in the hospital, that it had appeared that some of my broken ribs had pierced the liver. When I hear this kind of news, I attempt to distance myself. In this way, I can think of the liver not my liver. Sometimes it works.

6

About two AM, my older daughter, Claire, and her husband, John, arrived at the hospital. She had been told to hurry, as I was not expected to live more that a couple of hours. I couldn’t see her as my eyes were full of glass and swollen shut, but I knew that she was there. Rabbi Dick Sobol had stayed with me until my children arrived. My younger daughter, Ronni, couldn’t be located, as she was between planes, away on a business trip. Dick went home, slept for a short time, and returned. The Sorensons and Knipes had rushed to the hospital. They had been awakened after midnight by the police knocking on their door. They were not allowed to see me, but spoke with the Rabbi, asking how they could help. His answer; “Just be there for her.”

Our very dear friends, Gail and Bill Fishner, from New Jersey, (who later built a home on a hill overlooking The Lake), were called at home at 7:30 AM. We had “made” the front page of the local newspaper! A very dubious distinction.

(Gail and I have a long history: when Ronni and Gail’s younger son were in preschool, I was expecting Lloyd. I knew I would not be allowed to drive for a period of time, but not one of the moms in the car-pool would help. Gail, who had never met me before, took Ronni to school most of the semester, until I could “pay her back.” A few years later Jules and I introduced them to The Lake. She was instrumental in my meeting with my second husband, Charles. When I thank her for this, she always replies, “You brought us to Paradise.”)

Months later, I was told by Al Knipe, when the hospital had called in the top xray nurse, she had been angry at them for getting her up on such a stormy night. She had complained, “Why x-ray her, she won’t last two hours!”

When Claire came in, I took her hand and announced, “I’m NOT going to die. I want to see all four of my babies grow up.” She later said that she totally believed me, knew that I would live but that we were the only two people in the hospital that did. Claire and Lloyd met Ronni at the Albany airport the next morning and told her the news. I was told she had screamed and had collapsed right there.

I repeatedly had asked the Rabbi, the nurses, and anyone who would listen, “Where is my husband?” I knew HOW he was, but not where he was until finally when Claire had told me, “He’s downstairs”.

My children never saw their father. I believe he wasn’t identified legally. This was done by a member of the first aid squad who owned the marina at the head of our bay, rather than by a family member. According to the readings I subsequently did, books by author Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, an expert on matters pertaining to death and dying, the hospital had been obliged to drape him in such a way as to minimize the trauma so that family could see him. Since this didn’t happen it was difficult for them to believe that he was dead. The children kept having dreams that Jules was away on a business trip and would come home to say it was all a mistake.

The family and our friends were in shock. They had difficulty in accepting the fact that a man with as much energy, charisma, and vigor as Jules had, could be gone in one split second.

7

The family and friends who were to come to the lake for a celebration for Lloyd, came instead, for a funeral. (As an example of my “dark” humor, I reminded them that many already had motel reservations which were usually difficult to obtain during the height of the tourist season.)

Someone video-taped the funeral service for me from the balcony of Temple Beth-El, where we had been . Many months later, when I could finally bring myself to watch that tape, I could only see the backs of people’s heads but was able to recognize most of them;. my little ones, family, friends who were in the area, and a small number who made the trek upstate to be there.

* * *

After the lacerated liver was found, it had to be reconstructed. It was decided to attempt to repair the deep cuts on my face as well as to try to re-attach what remained of my left foot. That was done with skin grafts. Unfortunately they didn’t “take” that first time, as there was too much debris from the boat in the tissues. I WELL when they told me that I had the torn liver. It was later that first morning. A procedure was necessary that involved inserting a stomach tube. A long tube actually must be swallowed. Years before, I had been in an emergency room when I sprained an ankle. The woman in the next cubicle had swallowed pills. The nurses were trying to insert a tube to wash her stomach. I recalled them telling her to relax and swallow the tube. I then talked to myself, and said “Hey, they know what they’re doing. Relax all your muscles and do it”. So I did. It went easily, without discomfort.

Later that morning I discovered something extraordinary. I could “” my inner person, and my various body parts. I could focus on each part just like I always could when I was trying to reach someone telepathically! I told the children that I was going to concentrate intensively only on healing. For the next two weeks they should NOT tell me anything sad. I could thereby utilize all my energy on healing. I wanted them to bring me the little plastic “doozer” from the house. The “doozer” was a character in the children’s TV program, “Fraggle Rock” that my grandson Ari used to watch when he was very young. The “doozer” was the fixer, the little character that fixed broken things. They brought it to me, I kept it where I could see it. I visualized the doozer inside my liver, then my arm. However, I found out the following week that my arm, which was crushed from the wrist to just below the elbow, would have to be amputated, as it was impossible to repair. Shortly after this, the graft was rejected on my left foot, the same was said about that.

8

A strange and wonderful thing happened there. I am not religious at all. In fact, I have always been a devout Agnostic. I knew that I needed help, and I needed strength. I searched for it. I can’t say that I prayed. In fact, I don’t know exactly WHAT I did. I asked for, and received, that strength. I don’t know how or from where… The Eternal Universe, perhaps God, from inside myself, or from a source outside, possibly a healing force of my Angel..

When I was a child, maybe seven or eight, I felt the Angel watching over me. I thought it was my grandmother Lily, for whom I was named. I talked to her. I felt her with me. When Jules and I had troubles, and we had many, financial, health, marriage, etc. we always said that it seemed that we had an angel who helped us. The day after the accident, I remarked that I thought that my Angel had taken a day off. My next thought was, “Maybe not.”

Some years before, I had gone, with my friend, Audrey, to a psychic in NY. She made a tape of the hour long session.. A while ago, I found that tape. During that session, I was told that I had an Angel. I KNEW it. I was then told that in “a few years” my Angel would speak to me.

* * *

We were picnicking with the Sorensens and the Knipes, a few years prior to The Accident. I had been sitting on a rock watching the rippling water and feeling the warmth of the earth. I loved The Lake. It felt like home to me. The mountains gave me energy, the water blessed me with peace. I could, and often did, sit and watch the ever changing shadows on the hills for hours. It enriched my soul. I

could feel the earth-energy course through my body from the large stone that I sat on.

For several years, when gazing out over the water I was sure I saw a row of white birch canoes, in a row, moving north on The Lake. I knew they weren’t there, but I did “see” them.

We often used to have cook-outs there. That day I was sitting and meditating, when I heard a voice. all around me. I didn’t know from what direction, if any, it came. I was totally “freaked out”. I thought, “Hey, I’m not Moses. I’m not supposed to hear voices!” But I did. The voice said, “THERE ARE NO ANSWERS”. That’s all it said. I got goose bumps all over, and jumped up, ran over to Jules, who was getting the coals ready for the hibachi, and asked him if he heard anything. No-one did. When I was younger, I used to question everything all the time. It was very strange. I certainly heard the voice. I had forgotten the psychic telling me about an angel who would speak to me. It apparently DID. At the time I couldn’t fathom what it was all about. I responded, saying that I hadn’t asked any questions.

Was I given a wonderful gift from my Angel? I knew that there were no answers. I hadn’t asked any questions, but in the hospital I was tempted to. What if . . . . I had said I wouldn’t go in the boat? What if . . . we had taken the offer of the ride home instead of returning in the boat? What if . . . there had not been a four minute power as we went past the marina? What if . . . those young men had not heard the crash and gone into the water at great personal risk and pulled the boat in? In that one split second the earth tilted on its axis.

9

Sometime the next morning, I opened my eyes, and, looking up, could see what appeared to be the disembodied head of my mother, her sister, (my Aunt Hilda), and my brother. Claire had, of course, called my mother in Florida. She had said that that was the hardest phone call she had ever had to make. My brother and sister-in-law were vacationing in Florida at the time, and three of them flew north together. All I could see of them, from my bed, was their disembodied heads as they leaned over me. I thought to myself with an inward giggle, “What is this, the last rites?”

When my mother had asked the nurse my location ,she looked into the room, didn’t recognize me, went back and demanded to be sent to the RIGHT room. It’s difficult to imagine seeing your own child’s face, and not recognizing it. My face was discolored, black and blue, swollen to twice its size, and badly torn, with many missing teeth.

I was completely without physical control of my own body; dependent on the nurses for every medical necessity as well as comfort. One evening, in the intensive care unit I awoke so thirsty that my tongue was adhering to the roof of my mouth. When the nurse came in to take my “vital signs” I whispered, “Ice, please”. (I was not yet allowed anything but ice chips). She coldly told me she had to take care of the “medical before comfort”. I was terribly uncomfortable and in tears.

“Please”, I implored, “Ice.”

She deliberately took her time getting my blood pressure, etc… the “vitals”,

before deigning to give me a tiny piece of ice. I was furious. The actuality of total dependence was devastating. As she left my room, I whispered, “Bitch.” She heard me. I never saw that nurse again after telling my children about the experience the next day.

* * *

I had instructed the children not to tell me anything sad, so they didn’t explain that on the third day their father’s body had been autopsied, released, and that the funeral would take place. Jules and I had always said we wanted to be cremated and scattered in The Lake. Therefore, the funeral was more of a memorial service at Temple Beth-El, officiate by Rabbi Dick Sobol .

I had asked to see my very best friend, Mikki. She came with her husband, Stan, a psychiatrist, also a friend since we were teens. I had some things I wanted to discus with her. They saw me in the morning. The injuries that I had sustained had just been explained to me. I was distressed at the extent of those injuries. I had also developed pneumonia from lake water in my lungs. I asked the children, “Can someone with all these terrible injuries recover?” I couldn’t see that they looked at each other over my head. Ronni solemnly assured me that it could be done. THAT was when I knew I could do it! I reached for help. It was there. As I said, I still don’t know where it came from. Stan said that when they came back to the hospital after the funeral, there was an incredible change in me. I had more strength, and just appeared to be better. It happened because at that moment I had made the resolve and had become stronger. Inexplicable to all, but it did occur. My sudden strength came from somewhere in addition to my own resolve.

* * *

I never understood, nor believed in, prayer but I discovered that prayer surrounds you with positive energy. Lest I sound like some sort of nut… it seems to happen. Energy comes to you. Our friends prayed for me. My cleaning people, mother and daughter, had put my name on the “prayer board” at their church. Numerous others prayed. I felt it.

There is a possibility, suggested by scientists, that consciousness may not be completely confined to specific points in space and time… . that it might be a unified field. In other words, minds may not be local, but correlated, allowing for such phenomena as prayer, telepathy, precognition, and clairvoyance. Much to think about.

10

This was a time of learning for me. The lessons I was taught in the hospital have remained with me. My life has changed in many ways. My very self has changed. I became more spiritually aware and very thankful for each day. I also discovered that as a rule we use a very small percentage of our brains. I was able to “make things happen”. The brain is a fabulous instrument. It can perform many tasks that we don’t normally ask of it. I focused in. I visualized my foot and I willed it to heal, but sadly, there was too much damage. I visualized my liver and willed that to heal It did.

One morning while I was still in intensive care I asked a nurse when my stomach tube would be removed. It had become uncomfortable. I was told that it couldn’t be removed until I had peristalsis, the involuntary movement of the stomach and digestive systems. I said, “Why didn’t you tell me? Come back in an hour and a half.” She replied that I couldn’t make it happen as it’s an involuntary function. I repeated that she should return in an hour and a half. I focused. I began to hear the rumblings and “grumblings” of my stomach. When she returned to my room later, she was able to remove the tubes. She stared at me in amazement.

My children were wonderful. I’m sure most parents say that. But mine WERE. At least one of them was with me most of every day. I recently discovered that my cousin Phyllis and her partner were instrumental in allowing this to happen. They came north from New York City and took complete care of the four children for a few days so that Claire and Ronni could be at the hospital with me.

I had approximately fourteen or fifteen operations while I was hospitalized. My children and in-law children coalesced into one force that first day. The nurses, ever present, marveled at the constancy of my kids. Once I was asked, how did I raise them to be so caring. My answer,” Do the best you can and then hope to get

lucky.” Recently, an acquaintance, sobbing, told me that she was seriously ill, but not one of her three children could separate their petty grievances from the reality of her illness. Not one was there for her.

From the first, I was interested in the dynamic among them. My daughters deferred to their younger brother. Perhaps it was because one of his undergraduate majors had been pre-med.

My son-in-law, like a son to us, was comfortable with this. My daughter-in-law, however, married only one year, was horrified by the situation. The precipitous death of her father-in-law, and my severe injuries, were overwhelming for her. She often sat on the floor of my room, at a distance from me, and the others. One day, trying to draw her in, I asked her to bring me some ice chips. The words were hardly out of my mouth when Lloyd jumped up to help me. He wanted to do everything for me. I had to specify that I wanted Susan to help me. I attempted to make her part of the family unit.

Lloyd carried a beautiful leather attaché briefcase, a graduation gift from us. My mother, curious, asked to see what it was that he toted around. He opened it to reveal some papers, a bunch of grapes, and a sandwich. Although he appeared as an important executive, that image was slightly tarnished by his tattered shorts and tee shirt.

11

I had developed infections. There was debris from the boat and Lake in my legs and scalp. A blood infection was caused by the foreign matter. Further surgery was postponed until my blood cultures were clear. I am allergic to almost ALL antibiotics, and am almost impossible to medicate. I have had doctors tell me that I set medicine back to the eighteenth century.

After having been released from intensive care, I was moved to a room close to the nurses’ station. I was able to look at some of my body for the first time. Noone would give me a mirror. I looked down. My frontal body was a deep purplish-black. I said, “Wow! I never saw purple boobs before!” The thought occurred to me then that I would have to keep a close watch on my breasts in the future to see if any lumps developed. They did. Small lumps of necrotic (dead) tissue had formed in both breasts. They will be a part of my breasts for life.

Although I was allowed no mirror, I could feel that my hair was matted with “stuff.” The “stuff” was a combination of dried blood, glass, and other debris. I still couldn’t sit up, or even consider having my hair washed. It made me uncomfortable. I felt “yucky.” I saying that I felt like “things were living in there.”

In Glens Falls Hospital, friends had visited me often. The Rabbi came in almost every day. I was treated by the hospital staff with lots of “TLC” and sympathy. It was a warm feeling. My daughters left the dogs in the kennel and got sitters for the “little people” so that they could be with me. Claire and Ronni were with me all the time. After a while Lloyd had to get back to Ithaca to finish up his doctorate. Sue had to return to NYC where she was clerking for a judge. Lloyd came back and forth. We conferred together with the doctors who felt that they had done all they could for me in that hospital.

The surgeon who had operated on my foot was of the opinion that there was someone in Albany Medical Center who had a new procedure to repair the large wound in my left leg. (My foot was partially severed.) It was believed I would lose my right arm below the elbow. The kids got together, I don’t know how they did it, but I was to be transferred to Albany. I had some friends on staff in Albany Medical Center. I don’t know whether knowing them or not had any influence.

I became upset. In Glens Falls I had felt protected, loved, and secure. I didn’t want to move all the way south to Albany Medical Center. I got weepy and felt sorry for my plight, when quite by accident I overheard a conversation taking place at the nearby nurses’ station. An acquaintance, a doctor, was speaking on the phone to another doctor. He was saying that a patient of his who had been in a recent accident was badly injured, had spinal injuries, and was paralyzed from the neck down with severe head injuries. That stopped me cold. I had head injuries, a nasty concussion, and back injuries. Severe back pain, but no fracture, bodily injuries, etc. But, there I was, with all my faculties, knowing that I would walk again someday.

I gave myself a stern talking to and stepped out of the “pity pool”.

* * *

Just before my transfer I wanted to see my four grandchildren. I didn’t realize how ghastly I looked. Miriam, then 2 1/2, wouldn’t sit on my lap. “Is it because I don’t have teeth?” I asked her. (All my teeth were sheared off, from the middle top, across the right side.) When I asked her to sit on my lap, she recoiled.

“If I have more teeth than you do,” I asked. “Will you sit on my lap?”

She nodded and opened her little mouth and we counted her teeth. Then we counted mine. I had one more tooth than she did, and she came to me and crawled onto my lap.

Benjamin, three yours old, was outraged. He came over to me and said “Grammy, you weren’t wearing your seatbelt!” When I told him that a boat had no seatbelts, he indignantly wanted to know why not.

Albany

THEN

lucky me

underwater

blood flows

no sharks

in lake

no air

foot off?

arm crushed

liver damaged

help comes

am I dead?

Lollie W. Margolin

Once again, THANK YOU, GREAt Spirit

The day of leaving Glens Falls was emotional for me. I tearfully said goodbye to everyone. My friends all promised to come to Albany to visit, but they never did.

The ride in the ambulance was like a ride in a buckboard buggy. My broken ribs felt every bump in the road. The ambulance wasn’t well cushioned. Claire rode with me and tried to help but it HURT. The driver, the same one who had taken me from the boat to the hospital, was surprised to see how “well” I was doing.

* * *

One of my problems was the calendar… . it was August. That’s the worst month for my asthma and allergies. I needed an air-conditioned room but many rooms weren’t so equipped. I finally was put in a large, airy room. It was open and pleasant. An air conditioner was installed and I stayed in there for a very long time. My allergies made me difficult to treat. The first priority was to clear up all the infections. (The doctors had discovered that I had pneumonia… . from being under water, my lungs had some Lake in them) As I write this, I shudder to think of how many things I had to overcome, yet they didn’t upset me at the time.

13

Patience has never been my strong point .The first day I was in Albany, helpless, right arm immobilized, an IV in my left arm, bandages on both legs, a hairline fracture on one, I could do little or nothing for myself, especially negotiate bathroom activities. I must have rung the nurses’ bell a few times, when Margaret (I can’t recall her last name ) came in. Her first words to me were, “Mrs. Whitman, you’re going to be here a long time. If we’re going to get along, you’ll have to be patient!”

That was SO difficult for me. I am by nature independent as well as impatient. After a few days I realized the trick is to anticipate your needs and call for help before it becomes urgent.

* * *

The medical team consisted of a trauma plastic surgeon, for my left foot, an orthopedic surgeon for my arm, and a specialist in infectious diseases. I had pneumonia and a severe blood infection. When they came in to evaluate me they were appalled by the extent of my allergies to medications and were puzzled as to how to treat me.

The first order of business, was to treat the infections. I also had a little machine that I had to breathe into at least five times each waking hour to keep my lungs clear. Lloyd made me insane asking if I was “breathing” often enough. He kept scolding me to do the breathing exercises.

Lloyd was still completing his work at Cornell even though he technically had his doctorate by then. Ronni lived on the same street as the hospital. She came in many mornings with her styrofoam cup of coffee and a New York Times for me. (Just before the accident, she had quit her teaching job at the Albany Junior College, thinking she was going to work in Nashville, Tennessee). I attempted to do the Times crossword puzzle, as had been my daily custom, by propping up the paper on my knees, and learning to write with my left hand. That was difficult, as I am right-hand dominant. Susan’s sister, Diane, was a student at SUNY Albany nearby, and when their dad, Phil, brought her up to school he came to see me and brought me a large book of crossword puzzles and some erasable pens, which I REALLY appreciated.

* * *

I became upset and uncomfortable with the mess in my hair, and kept nagging to have my hair washed. Without a mirror I could only imagine how terrible I looked with my hair all matted with blood and debris, facial scars and no teeth. (Do I detect a bit of vanity?) The presence of broken teeth upset me. I guess I am vain, but I habitually spoke with my left hand shielding my mouth.

Ronni asked permission for me to get into a wheelchair in order to get me to the bathroom sink and wash my hair. “Finally,” I had thought, “I was going to get clean.”

It was a miracle that she didn’t drown me. Unbelievably in that hospital the bathroom door wasn’t wide enough for a wheelchair to get through. By twisting and turning she got me to the sink and started the disgusting task of getting my hair free of the matted, dried mess. She said afterward that it was very difficult for her not to gag while working on my head. She was stunned at the various materials that came out; glass, wood, and lots of dried blood.

I had asked for my blow drier, my curling iron, hair spray, and make-up And a mirror. OH! What a shock that first look was. However, in spite of the mess I was in, or maybe because of it, I combed, curled and made up every day, albeit with one hand with an IV in it. My daughters brought me some cotton nighties with short, wide sleeves. Sometimes we just cut off the right sleeve. I matched my eye shadow and lipstick to the color of the gown I wore each day. The nurses came in daily to see what colors I was wearing after I was washed in the mornings. Later I was told they ired me for my strong survival instinct, and the desire to “look good” considering my horrific injuries.

The bane of my existence was the phlebotomist who came in twice daily to take blood. I have small rubbery veins that can only be accessed with pediatric or butterfly needles. Some of the technicians were good. Some had to call for help after punching holes in my arm that caused large black and blue areas. Unfortunately, they only had one arm to work with. Many days I had wished I could just hide under the bed.

Occasionally, when one of the team of three doctors would disagree with the others I felt that I had to make the decision. After all, it was my body. That happened one day when I had become allergic to yet another antibiotic and the orthopedic surgeon, Dr Allan Carl, wanted to ister something I felt would be less than beneficial. The other two doctors agreed with me.

A word about the doctors: Allan Carl looked somewhat like Woody Allen. BUT, with absolutely no sense of humor. I often had the feeling that he didn’t have a clue as to what I was talking about. (Before he operated on my arm I asked him a version of the old joke about playing the piano. “After the surgery will I be able to play tennis?” He looked puzzled, as he often did when talking to me, and said “maybe”.

I then said, “ Oh goody, I didn’t play tennis before.”

He didn’t get it. When I had seen him for a check-up in the hospital that next winter, I was sitting with my big fur coat over my arm in the waiting area. He ed me… perhaps he was against wearing animal fur and said with a sneer..”Is that thing alive?”

I quickly answered, “Oh, I don’t think so, I haven’t fed it in three months.”

He stopped short, looked at me, shook his head in bewilderment, and kept on walking.

However, he was a fabulous surgeon. Unfortunately he couldn’t operate on my arm until the blood infection was completely gone, as I was told any infection will settle immediately at metal implants.

My “infectious doctor,” as I called her, Dr Vetter , was a wonderful sweet woman with a heavy accent. I was her biggest challenge, she said. She carefully monitored the daily blood cultures and my temperature readings. My lungs were x-rayed so many times that we didn’t need a night light in the room. The green glow was me. Dr. Vetter was the one I could talk to most easily, but she wasn’t well. She took a leave of absence at the end of that year and had limited hospital hours.

Dr. Dolph, the trauma plastic surgeon, was a terrific guy. HE had a sense of humor and was a good conversationalist. He seemed to understand what was going on with me emotionally as well as physically. He explained that not only would I need skin grafts, but he felt that I’d need a muscle graft as well to avoid having a dropped foot, or I would need a brace forever. I had never looked at my foot. The kids had, and said it was “gruesome”. It seems that there was not much

more than bone left and that was plainly visible. All the soft tissue was gone. I asked Dr. Dolph if there was ANY muscle tissue left. He avoided the question, saying that there wasn’t much of anything left, and that the skin grafts alone would require several operations. I persisted in asking again if there was ANY muscle tissue at all. Finally he told me that there was a very small bit, not enough to be effective. That was what I needed to know.

I have said before that I was able to focus on each part of my body that was injured and visualize healing, then focus, focus, focus. I don’t know how or where I acquired this skill. Again, thanks Angel. I knew that I had to do this myself. It was easy for me to do. I was in a sheltered environment, few distractions other than nurses, blood suckers, bed pans, etc. The same four walls, the same bed, not that many stimuli. I wonder if my Angel protected me… if she, or he, still does. No-one else ever did. This either made me strong or I was lucky to always have been strong… . strong enough to keep living. I never was scared; annoyed, frustrated, sad and impatient many times. I never was afraid that I would die. It just wasn’t in my mind… ever.

In retrospect, it seems odd that I wasn’t dealing with the grief or bereavement at that time. My mind must have closed it off somehow in order to protect me. I needed all my emotional strength to heal. When one is grieving, the entire body reacts to that sadness with negativity. I instinctively knew that, I guess. I was sad when I thought of Jules’ death, but I always realized that the accident would be the larger issue. Later, I had to deal with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

In order to do skin grafts the site of the injury has to be prepared many times. It’s much like a burn injury. It needs debriding. This is the procedure; first clean away the damaged tissue, allow the new to grow, clean that away, new skin grows, etc. that’s repeated until the new skin appears healthy. Each debriding was a separate surgical procedure done in the operating room requiring x-rays, etc. I came to know everyone associated with the operating room; anesthesiologists, orderlies , nurses; the entire team. There was one AfricanAmerican man who pushed the gurneys in and out of the operating rooms. We all

had to wear blue shower-type hats covering our hair, patients and staff alike. We used to joke about the color. I would tell him that blue just wasn’t his color, and he would reply that I didn’t look so hot either. We had a small giggle each time. He was a nice guy, and seemed concerned about my frequent trips to the “OR.”

14

Soon, I could swing myself into a bedside commode. I gradually upgraded to trips to the bathroom, which, as I said, wasn’t wide enough to accommodate the wheelchair. As I got stronger I could wheel myself to the door, hop to the “throne”. As I’ve mentioned, the sink had no faucets. It only had foot pedals. I must have been a comical sight trying to get the wheels to nudge down at least one of the pedals to wash my hands. The entire exercise was absurd… . I had one good arm, the left, and one not-so-bad leg, the right. It was difficult to keep from going in circles, similar to rowing with one oar in the water.

Dr. Dolph informed me that he was giving me a rest. I needed more time to heal and I STILL had some signs of infection. He was leaving for a week’s vacation. I had decided to utilize whatever muscle tissue was left in my leg. I didn’t have much else to do, but my makeup, hair and toilette. I had to have help with my food as I only had one hand to work with and that one had an IV in it. Diane, Susan’s sister came sometimes to cut my food and my ex-son-in-law, Jack, came in often with Chinese food or pizza or just to cut my meat. I will always be grateful to all those who cared so much for me.

* * *

I concentrated on doing isometric exercises on the left foot. I worked the quad muscles and attempted to work the foot and ankle, too. I did sets of ten, sixty to one hundred times a day, until I could flex my foot… . and even then I continued the drill… . every day. When Dr Dolph returned and came into see me I told him to watch my foot. I lifted the foot . . . and then I held it flexed, in the air! He was completely incredulous. He had said it couldn’t be done, but I did it. When I did get my foot to flex I felt an incredible surge of triumph and satisfaction. Achievement! I then felt terribly guilty. How could I feel so good, when Jules

was dead? This was a philosophical dilemma. As usual I called Stan Machlin for his feelings about MY feelings..then called the Rabbi, Dick Sobol, with whom I spoke almost daily, as I did with Stan. Whenever they concurred I figured I was OK as they came from opposing “camps” so to speak. They agreed that my feeling of triumph was a healthy emotion, . They encouraged me to avoid “survivor’s guilt”.

The emotional and philosophical aspects of the whole situation were mindboggling to me. On one hand, I was in deep mourning; on the other, I needed to be “inside” myself to heal and to deal with the daily “stuff” of blood tests, hives, fungal reactions, and “potty” needs. I needed help with the basics; feeding, grooming me, and brushing any teeth that were left. This also meant waiting for more nurses… trying to be patient, again.

Since the infection was almost gone Dr. Dolph was going to schedule the final surgery on my ankle. There had been four or five previous trips to the operating room. This now meant selecting a donor site somewhere on my body. A layer of skin, the donor site, would be removed and grafted to my ankle. He assured me he would take skin from above the swim-suit line. However, when I awoke after the surgery my first look told me that the donor site was between my right hip and my knee. I was appalled. When he entered my room I began to chastise him, exclaiming that “They’re wearing swim-suits a lot shorter these days!” He patiently explained that since I was to have the bone transplant donor site at the left hip, (in an attempt to rebuild my arm), I would not have had any comfortable place to lie in bed.

What I hadn’t understood was that I was not to move my leg or foot for a minimum of five days. Of course that put me back to complete bed rest. No more trips to the bathroom nor using the bed side commode or turning in my sleep; no movement at all. The graft needed time to “take”. It wasn’t a sure thing. If I moved my foot even in my sleep, the fragile graft could be ruined and need to be done over. There was a large element of suspense in this operation.

I had become accustomed to “escaping” when no-one was looking. I had wheeled myself out of the room for a few minutes at a time as I had begun to get “cabin fever”. I always got caught and was sent scurrying back. Now, in order to move at all, or just change positions to avoid sores, someone would have to be available to hold my leg immobile. There was a conundrum. On one hand I needed to remain absolutely still, on the other, I was supposed to turn frequently to protect my recovering lungs from recurring pneumonia. I felt sorry for the nurses and my family. I was cranky. Skin grafts, at least mine, are extremely weak. If I failed to follow these explicit instructions, It might slough off, and the entire process would begin again. NO THANKS.

The pain at the donor site where the skin was removed was excruciatingly painful, similar to a third degree burn. Of all the procedures that was the most painful, more so than my hip, from which the bone was later taken in order to rebuild my arm.

Meanwhile, Dr Carl, wanting to be sure the blood infection was gone, wanted to give me ONE MORE antibiotic. There weren’t any more. He decided on keflex.. Ronni isn’t allergic to it, but Claire is. That gave me a 50-50 chance at being able to tolerate it. The weather was warm and the beds had plastic sheeting under the cotton sheets. I was always hot and rashy. He gave me the keflex. I broke out in hives which were so enormous that they circled my body and met each other… then turned into some kind of boils. Fun stuff. Some of the non-life-threatening problems were more onerous to me than the big things.

Dick Sobol and Stan both gave me the extra I needed. I was very needy. Of course I missed Jules and understood that once I left the hospital I would be in uncharted territory. I had to do it MYSELF. No-one else could go in and out of the OR, or be in the bed when the despised vampire came to draw my blood.

I was never scared. Annoyed, impatient, frustrated many times, but really not frightened. I felt like the overseer of a group of contractors. Each “department”

had to be attended to. I couldn’t do things for myself, but could watch carefully as each procedure was done. If it didn’t make sense to me I would consult with Stan, and of course, my kids. I did make many decisions. Occasionally I would not allow the nurse or one of the doctors to perform a procedure. Once when Dr. Carl wanted to do a “cut-down” at the side of my neck, and give me another new antibiotic after the cultures were coming back clean, I flatly refused to allow the nurse, Margaret, to come near me with the equipment.

I reasoned that if the cultures were negative, showing no more infection, then there was no reason for more antibiotics at that time. Margaret, a bit peeved. said “Mrs. Whitman, you have the right to refuse treatment”. I explained to her that was what I was doing. I also asked her to check with the other two doctors to see if they were in agreement with Dr. Carl on this issue. If they were I might rethink my objections. Dr. Dolph came into my room shortly after, and when I discussed the episode with him, told me absolutely that I had done the right thing. Dr Dolph, as I have said, was the best medical doctor. Dr. Vetter was also appalled at the order for the additional medication.

15

The next procedure after the conquering of the infections, was the surgery on my arm. A week or so before I had a strange experience. Suddenly I got a “message” from my arm. I felt that the bone endings had begun to turn to mush, or “oatmeal”, as I had said to the nurses. I asked that the Dr. [Carl] be called. When he came in I told him that something really bad was happening inside my arm. He looked at me, as usual, with a puzzled expression. How did I know? I tried to explain that my arm was “screaming” at me. Right. Did I have more pain? No. Then what? I only knew it was bad. I literally begged him to order an x-ray. I nagged enough that he did. I was absolutely right. There had been a large amount of deterioration since the last x-ray. The decision was made to do the reconstruction on my arm as soon as possible. It was explained to me that they needed bone to fill in the approximately 5-6 inches of space where the bone was “gone”. That could come from a bone bank or from me. Considering my allergies there was a danger of my body rejecting any “foreign” tissue. The doctor then explained that there would be at least two stainless [surgical] steel bars to the bone implant, as bone graft tissue is never as strong as the original bone. Some more “goodies” that I was told, was that the radial nerve responsible for sensation along the back of my hand was not only severed, but crushed. I would never have any feeling on the back of my right hand. I was pretty happy to have a right hand, so that news didn’t disturb me too much. Dr. Carl also told me that I wouldn’t be able to turn my wrist, wave, or open a door by turning the doorknob. Again, I figured I could deal with that and could easily do it with my left hand. I had become proficient at doing things with my left hand, even could write a bit… the writing wouldn’t get a “C” from a first grade teacher, but was legible. It was decided to take the needed bone from the area of my left hip.

All of a sudden I started getting funny “vibes”. I was a bit nervous but not excessively so. I was getting “vibes about the surgery. More x-rays were called for… arm, chest, etc. I was worried about medications before and after the operation… this guy just wasn’t tuned in to allergies. The day of the surgery came… . I understood it took seven hours. When I woke up in my room my arm

was in a cast. Of course I was groggy from the anesthesia. The kids came, then at night, went home. Claire went back up to the lake house with Lloyd; Ronni to her house down the same street as the hospital.. Then… . the worst night of my life. My arm had begun to swell and itch inside the cast. It became unbearable. I had called for the nurse, as the pain killers were definitely NOT touching the pain in any way. The nurse was not at all helpful, saying that there wasn’t anything she could do. I explained what was happening inside the cast… . my arm was being held in an ever-tightening vise. She was sympathetic, but not helpful. I asked, and after a while demanded that she call the doctor. She refused, saying she would lose her job for “bothering” the doctor so late at night. I told her to call the resident, orthopedic or otherwise, anyone who was on call. No, she wouldn’t do that either. By this time, I was in the utmost agony. I was in such acute pain that I actually wondered if it could cause a heart attack. I was trying not to scream. I didn’t want to disturb my new room-mate, but it was unendurable. The nurse was adamant. Hours went by… I was in a sweat and shaking from the pain, itching and throbbing. At about 4:30 AM Ronni walked into my room! She had “picked up” my terrible distress and came to me. SHE had no qualms about calling a doctor. When an orthopedic resident came in… he took a look… cut open the cast… and gasped. It seemed that Dr Carl had cleansed my arm with benzoin . . .

I am allergic to betadine and all iodine based substances. The arm was swollen, and had large blisters, which had formed around the arm and along the incision! He called for a dermatologist who put some cortisone-type ointment on my arm. Then it was lightly wrapped in a dressing, not a cast. When Dr. Carl saw me later in the morning, he was annoyed, saying that I had ruined his beautiful work. I berated him soundly, (you bet) for using the benzoin. He replied that I hadn’t told him about it. How could I? I was “out” when he applied it to my arm. I asked him if chemistry had been included in his education and sarcastically informed him that if the substance was brown it was IODINE. The fact that I’m allergic to betadine and IV dyes [all iodine-based] should have alerted him, but didn’t. I complained loud and long about the night nurse’s refusal to call anyone to alleviate my terrible distress. She was never seen again in that hospital. I was told she “resigned”. That was the last nurse I ever had difficulties with.

16

Suddenly, it was Fall. I had gone into the hospital in the heat of August. When I could wheel myself to a window I could see the leaves starting to turn. Autumn comes early in the North Country. It was nearing Rosh Hashanah, the High Holy Days, a particularly sad time for my children and me, too. It was to be the first Holiday without their father. At least I was still around. Although I still had more surgery looming they were pretty sure by now, that I was stubborn enough to stay alive.

I had hardly seen the grandchildren since I was in Albany. I missed them I don’t think they were anxious to see the wreck that was now their Grammie. I was still a scary sight. They were back at their regular routines, more or less. Ari.Miriam and Noah were home with the sitter; Benjamin with the nanny, or perhaps at preschool, I can’t recall.

Claire and Ronni’s friend, our ex-neighbor from Edison, was in New Jersey for a visit. My kids did a beautiful thing. They arranged with someone in the hospital to obtain a small empty room to use. They ordered an entire Holiday dinner from an Albany kosher deli. It had everything; soup and matzo balls, kugel (pudding), brisket [or was it chicken?] etc. Our entire little family was there. I have never told them how I really felt about it. It was such a loving gesture on their parts. I couldn’t tell them that I found the whole meal upsetting. We dined in an empty examining room with all the medical paraphernalia. I had to have all my food cut into small pieces. I was hurting physically and emotionally. It was so terrific of them, and It upset me. I felt torn apart, bruised inside and out. It was such a beautiful gesture, done for me, and I loved them for it.

My mourning and grieving process was beginning. One of the most difficult adjustments was the pronouns. I tried to to say me instead of we.

Things were “mine”, not “ours”. This, I believe is the true “change of life”. I was torn between the mourning, the healing, trying not to upset my kids or make their lives any more difficult than they were.

Sudden death is a watershed. From that moment on life’s perspective shifts. Everything dates from either before, or after. I didn’t want to be defined by the cataclysm, but there was a shift in my inner core. The world was a different place. Not better, not worse, just forever different.

17

I think I was a source of wonder and amusement to the nurses. After one of my kids or an aide helped me wash in the morning, I would prop up my small mirror against my knees, and with my left hand, comb my hair, sometimes even using a curling iron. I could just reach the outlet to plug it in. My makeup would go on next, trying vainly to cover the facial scars, and then eye makeup, which would always match my nightgown-of-the-day. My top teeth were missing from the center tooth to the back. Once someone asked me what happened to my teeth. My answer; “They ate my liver”.

My humor had a dark side. I had lost several pounds. Someone noticing my new petite size asked about it. I told them “crash diet”. At least I HAD a sense of humor… still. I needed it at mealtime. I mentioned before that occasionally Jack, Ronni’s ex-husband, (Benjamin’s Dad), or Diane, Susan’s sister, would come in around meal time if one of my kids weren’t around to help. I couldn’t cut anything with one arm and couldn’t chew anything that wasn’t cut. The food was, as is most hospital food, pretty lousy. I tried to order meals that didn’t require cooking, such as salads or fruit platters. In order to analyze any cooked food you needed a degree in chemistry. The only way to identify what was on the plate was to refer to a copy of the menu. Then you would have an idea of what you were consuming.

We learned from Social Services that there was an interesting service available. On the days when no-one could be around for much of the day, a hired “sitter” was available to help with bathroom, propping up pillows, changing position, back rubs and non-medical chores that the nurses might be too busy to do. Though I certainly wasn’t complaining about the nurses, they were phenomenal. It was never aides that istered directly to the patients, It was the RNs (ed Nurses). They were knowledgeable, capable, and when they weren’t in a frenzy caring for too many very ill people, full of TLC. I had sitters a few times. They were mostly young mothers with a couple of free hours. They

worked for an agency, for minimum wage. They often came in and while keeping me company would air their problems. Sometimes I was able to help. It made me feel better to be in a position to aid someone else while I was relatively helpless.

* * *

I have said, many times, that my kids were terrific. The nurses used to wonder “How do you get kids like that? There were days when Lloyd was there with me and the girls were busy with their lives. One evening at my bedtime I had wanted to brush what was left of my teeth. I asked him for the small curved “spit” tray. When I was done I said, “Lloyd, I know this is “YUKKY”, but could you please empty this?” His answer, though typical, brought tears to my eyes. He said, “Mom, what’s the matter with you? I would empty any of your bed-pans, if you needed me to”.

He is a caring, empathetic human being, and now is a wonderful Dad. That makes me think of something he had said about that time. He had told me that he was upset because his father would never know his children, and vice versa. This knowledge had exacerbated the sense of loss for him.

18

My grandchildren were so young, that one of my “sadnesses” was that they wouldn’t their “Grampy” who loved them so dearly. Ari was 5, at that time, Benj was 3 ½, and Miriam three. Noah was just a little guy of not-quitetwo.

Ari and his Grampy were pals. They were fishing buddies. They would fish from the dock. In my mind I can see Ari and Jules standing near a house we had for a short time in Bolton Landing, fishing with a pole and a string, with a pin for a hook, and bread for bait. He was such a patient little boy of four then. He waited and waited, quietly just like his Grampy did when fishing. One day he came to Jules and said “Grampy, let’s take a walk”. When Jules asked him what they would do, he answered “Well, we could just think”.

They had a great love. They were buddies. They had matching boating shirts that Jules had a seamstress make for him. Ari was so proud of his. He adored his Grampy. He felt the abrupt disappearance of his big hearty grandfather keenly. His world changed. He never had the enormous bear-hugs, never heard the roaring laughs again… . this had been an integral part of his life. He was hungry for this affection. Jules loved them all, but he knew Ari. Ari was the first. We had waited a long time for that child. When he came to us, Jules was ecstatic.

Ari changed. He was never again that same child.

The cataclysm touched each of my babies.

* * *

I had worried about the effect the trauma would have on them. A big, strong man like their Grampy… gone. They knew he had died, but what meaning did that have for young children? If HE could vanish without a trace, and I could be in such a broken up condition, then surely the world was a very dangerous place for little children. I had wondered if they became fearful.

I have made sure that each child has a picture alone with Jules. I also have given the kids videos, and we had plenty of those to show them. Perhaps they will that such a person lived and loved them. I don’t think my daughters have ever played the tapes I gave them. I don’t know why.

The effect on Benjamin was interesting. He was SO angry First of all because there were no seat belts on boats, and because Jules was gone. He was reluctant to come near me, but was all right in being in the room with me. He would play near me. After I left the hospital I went to Ronni’s house for four or five weeks He was delighted to have me to himself. BUT, shortly afterwards he wouldn’t come near me, insisting that I smelled “bad”. It was about three years before I could get near him. Little by little he allowed me to touch him, then hug him, but not kiss him. I felt terrible because of effect our trauma had on him. He was a troubled child. There is no way to know if he would have had problems if there had been no accident, but he was a handful. I believe that the initial sight of me in the hospital stayed with him for many years. He has a brilliant mind, but how could such a baby deal with what he saw that day? We had thought it best for the little ones to see that I was still alive. Perhaps I should have spoken to them on the phone and spared them that sight until I wasn’t swathed in bandages, and waited until some of the facial injuries and multicolored bruises had healed.

We considered it and did what we thought was right… . and now I think it was terribly wrong. Ben and Ari were definitely traumatized by seeing me that day.

* * *

When Miriam got back home to her pre-school routine, her teacher spoke to Claire. She was concerned that Miriam was preoccupied with death and killing. Miriam seemed to be doing her own play therapy. She loved her little FisherPrice “peoples,” and was knocking them over the head, or pushing them off the table and announcing “You’re dead”. She did that for a long time. It seemed to work for her. She often pretended that her toys got hit on the head and died. She must have overheard that Jules had suffered a head injury and inflicted that on her “peoples”. Somewhere about that time she began to have terrible temper tantrums. Whether those were manifestations of the “terrible two’s,” a reaction to the disruptions in her life, or a combination of these, we’ll never know.

I will always be sad that the kids won’t Jules. I am extremely lucky that I have since married a wonderful man who is a loving Grandpa to all of my grandchildren, who now number six!

19

I consider myself fortunate, and did back then too. I have often thought of the conversation that I had overheard the day I was moved from Glens Falls Hospital. (The one about Harold’s [a doctor] patient being a quadriplegic after an accident.) I had had a concussion, back injuries, which really didn’t manifest themselves for a long while, and horrific trauma internally and externally. I always knew I would heal and I also knew I would need a full year for me to be more like me, physically, anyway. My mother called from Florida almost every day. From my hospital bed in Albany, I kept assuring her I would recover and walk again one day. I explained that it would take about a year of operations, that I would be in and out of the hospital. I hoped that she would be resigned to the long healing process, and that would allay her anxieties.

Inside, I was not the same. I don’t mean that my “Lollie” core was gone, but so many changes had occurred in my thinking and knowing, that I was different in many ways. I felt strong inside. I have said that I was never frightened. I knew I would be alive, with scars, inside and out, but would have life. I couldn’t deal with pity or tears. I couldn’t manage to cope with other people’s grief in addition to mine and my children’s. I, very rudely, threw two friends out of my room when they cried at seeing me for the first time. The first one was Cathy Roland in who’s home we took shelter from the storm THAT Sunday night. She was teary when she came into my room. I asked her to LEAVE and not come back if she didn’t control herself. I really wasn’t nice about it and have long since apologized. The second was an old friend who came into the room sniffling and teary. I didn’t allow her get far when I told her to go out in the hall to compose herself, or go home. Some people drove three or more hours to see me and I wouldn’t allow them to express their sorrow. Condolences, yes; pity, no. I hung up on Glady, an old friend, when she called from Florida because she began by exclaiming, “Oh you poor thing, lying there all broken up, and Jules killed, too”. I just said., “Can’t talk to you now”, and hung up. I didn’t consider myself a “poor thing”. I considered myself damn lucky to be alive against all the odds. Yes, I missed my husband and I had begun to mourn, but I felt strong inside. I felt all the strength of the prayers of so many people. I felt a warmth around me

from my children, from my friends and from “outside” of all that. God? Universal Being? My Angel? I just know that I never felt alone. There was a loving presence with me. This was all new to me, as I never before was a “believer’.

* * *

I wasn’t thrilled about many of the miserable medical procedures. One of the nastiest ones involved the danger of fungal infections from the antibiotics. I had to rinse my mouth with disgusting stuff every night, and use a vaginal cream every day. UGH

One night I rang the call bell. I needed to use the bed pan. Before the accident I was too modest to use a bed pan, but after so many weeks in the hospital not only could I use it but doing it in the hall or even the parking lot, probably wouldn’t have upset me. A male nurse came in. I was embarrassed to ask him for the pan. Go figure. If there’s any place where you lose your modesty fast, it’s a hospital. The poor guy explained that he was the substitute nurse for the night and there was NO-ONE else. I had another little talk with me. I go to a male gynecologist so why was I acting silly? I used the bed pan, and that was that.

I had wonderful nurses, as I’ve said. They were business-like, efficient but caring and encouraging. Just before the accident I had bought three pairs of expensive dress shoes with moderately high heels. Mary-Catherine, one of my nurses, was in the room when I told my girls to take the shoes back to the store .They had never been worn. I believed that I would surely walk again but had doubts that I would wear heels again. Mary-Catherine told me not to return the shoes as she was positive that my determination would insure my wearing them. One year later when I was in the hospital for a check-up for my arm I went to the orthopedics floor to see her. I was wearing a pair of those shoes. I felt good.

* * *

Before the last graft, I was bored with seeing the same four walls, and against the nurses’ orders, I got out into the wheelchair and out into the hall by being creative. The nurses were afraid that I would slip out of wheelchair. I managed to zigzag around the hall until I saw a nurse, and then, like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar, looking guilty, would scurry back “home” again!

20

I had a few room-mates. My first one was the total screwball who couldn’t stop smoking. The next one was in for a cataract operation. She was only around for two days.

In the middle of the next night, the lights went on, and the first aid squad brought in a young woman who was having a seizure. Later that morning, she told me that she had recently moved to the Albany area from Boston. She had a cat, that somehow managed to get out of the house, and hadn’t returned. She went looking for it in the middle of the night, and she fell into an open pit that was an unfinished foundation! When she didn’t come back, her husband went out with a flashlight and found her at the bottom of the dugout! She had a broken back, had to be fitted for, and inserted into, a fiberglass brace, that was contoured to her body. She was completely immobilized. She couldn’t move her head to drink or eat. Bed-pans were necessary hassle. (If I seem preoccupied with bed-pans, it’s because they are a VERY important part of life in the hospital.) I felt good about myself , maybe content is a better word, because I was able to encourage her when she had some ‘down “days. When I left, she told me that I had helped her to begin her recovery. She actually said I was her “inspiration”. I have been called many things, but rarely “inspiration”.

21

One day, not long after I came to Albany Medical Center, I had an unexpected visitor. He was the brother of a friend we knew in St. Maartin, who grew up in Albany. He’s a doctor, and the coroner for Albany county, and a friend of Dr. Lenny Busman, the general practitioner in Bolton Landing, and my friend, too. Lenny doubled as coroner or medical examiner or whatever they’re called, at The Lake. The Albany doctor came to see me on behalf of my friend, his sister, Marilyn, who lived in the Boston area. We talked for a while. He asked me some questions about things that had puzzled both himself and Lenny. “What had we been drinking the night of the accident?”

I had had a couple of vodkas on the rocks, and Jules had nursed one vodka and tonic most of the evening. He remarked that that had explained the trace of quinine in Jules’ blood. He then told me that they had never seen anyone with such advanced coronary-artery disease, who had died from any other cause. I always knew Jules was a sick man. He just never wanted to acknowledge it.

* * *

Sometimes the girls and I would get pretty silly. The number of ridiculous, sick jokes we could think of were almost endless. One day I was in an enormous recliner that resembled a great throne on wheels. It needed someone with the strength of a line-backer to wheel around. It was more comfortable than a wheel chair and gave me excellent for my arm pillow.

We were in the basement, or some area where I was taken to wait for yet another x-ray. We decided that it would be appropriate to send an obituary to the south

Florida newspapers, as Jules and I had just been there the previous Memorial Day weekend for a reunion of Miami Beach High School, where he had attended. I had been reluctant to go with him but had found that there were several couples I had ed from the early days of our marriage, when we had lived in Gainesville, Florida, and we both had a great time. Something about composing that obituary made Ronni and me laugh hysterically, until we cried. Maybe that was it. We needed to cry.

I had repressed my grief and had not cried yet. In the years since, I’ve been a Hospice volunteer and also a trained “lay bereavement counselor”. I understand that denial is normal, a natural emotional protection when it’s needed. More about this later.

22

Once most the scheduled surgery was completed, I began to feel “itchy” and wanted OUT of the hospital. I knew I needed quite a bit more recovery time, but I was getting irritable and impatient.

Ronni, as I’ve said, lived down the block from the hospital. She thought that I could come to her house for a few weeks. She wasn’t working yet, and could care for me. We had a conference with the doctors and nurses. It was decided to have Social Services set up a schedule with the Visiting Nurse Service, the physical therapist, and the occupational therapist. I was scheduled to begin therapy in the hospital, then depending on my progress my move to Ronni’s house would be considered. Both Ronni and Claire had to be given lessons by the nurses, on how to change all the dressings on both legs… the graft being the most difficult. It was amazing to all, the hospital personnel and myself, that my daughters would agree to this awesome responsibility. My life was literally in their hands, as the wounds were susceptible to infection.

One day, when the nurses were supervising Ronni as she prepared to change the dressings on my ankle, I looked at it. This was the FIRST TIME I had seen it since the accident. I was shocked to see that the shape of the ankle was exactly like a half-eaten apple core; narrow in the middle and slightly wider at the ends. I was horrified. Ronni assured me it looked good, saying, “You should have seen it before.”

Dr. Dolph promised me that it would fill in, and look like a real ankle… . with time.

Before I could make my escape it was ordained that I begin physical and occupational therapy. The only pair of crutches that were a correct fit was found in Pediatrics. A shelf was constructed to my right arm. This was tricky; I had to grasp a handle on the shelf with my fingers (but they didn’t match up), and try to “crutch “ my way across the floor. After that maneuver, I had to attempt to descend a flight of stairs. Standing at the top of the stairway, looking down, I felt that I was atop Mt. Washington. Very scary. When I got to Claire’s I found it easier and safer to descend on my bottom, a technique I continued when I eventually returned to my three story condo in Scotch Plains, New Jersey.

I did learn another lesson, once again, in the rehab area where I was sharing space with stroke patients, amputees, and many others whose difficulties exceeded mine, and once again, I realized how fortunate I was: I would walk, I would recover, I would heal, with help from my Angel, and the great healing strength of the Universe. I was learning to touch The Source.

Every event in our lives forms its entire fabric. It is my belief that each story is similar to a great medieval tapestry. Every battle, every good and bad day, is woven into our special saga,

* * *

The dedication of my daughters enabled me to leave the hospital about six to eight weeks early. I would have spent that time right where I was; in Albany Medical Center, if they hadn’t done all the “hospital stuff” for me in their homes. I was grateful to be emancipated from the hospital regime and the unappetizing food.

FREE AT LAST

23

After a family conference, we decided that I would be taken directly to The Lake from the hospital, then after a ceremony and prayers, consign Jules’ ashes to The Lake. This had been his often stated desire. All easier said than done. I was almost totally incapacitated .We had called our close friends, Audrey and Gerry, and “invited” them to us there. My need to see The Lake was strong. It was a case of now or never again.

Going back to our house was traumatic. I joked that it was fortunate that I was compulsive about never leaving a bed unmade, or dishes in the sink, especially if you leave one day and somehow don’t return for a couple of months… . and your MOTHER shows up. .

* * *

There had been no opportunity to thoroughly bathe while in the hospital. I truly yearned for a warm bath, but could not immerse my left arm, or either of my legs, in water. My two fantastic daughters helped me “sort of” bathe and get in and out of the tub that night. ( I said that you totally lose all modesty in a hospital.) They dried me, got me ready for bed… the first night alone in my new life. With great insight and understanding, the women who cleaned for us had NOT changed the bed linens. Lying there, I could feel and smell Jules’ presence. The flood of memories of our last night of intimacy in that bed were unleashed. We hadn’t known it was to be our last time together. I wondered if it would have been different if we had known… or not. It was strange, thinking about it that day, lying in our bed, ing.

I lay down, motioned the family to leave me alone, and, for the first time allowed the tears, the screams of anger and loss, burst through the dam of control that I could not have unleashed in the hospital.

24

That night I had the first of many flash backs. I had begun the experience of post traumatic stress syndrome, without having yet experienced the total stress. On many future nights, I would wake in a sweat, reliving that night in the boat. Strange things sometimes happen with PTSD. One develops neuroses that didn’t exist before. I later found that driving over bridges was a scary and difficult task. Lloyd and Sue had moved to Maryland, necessitating a drive over the Delaware Memorial Bridge. On my first venture over that bridge, with both of my loyal canine companions, I almost came to a dead stop at the foot of the bridge. It loomed high ahead of me, and I broke out in a cold sweat. Talking to my “furry girls” helped me get up and over. It was more than two years before I could cross that bridge without sweaty palms. But I DID IT.

Occasionally, entering an elevator was a problem. I saw a couple of different therapists, only to understand that it all would lessen, over time. Strange fears would “pop up”, and that basically, it was my problem. I had a choice of taking medication, Zoloft or Prozac, or repeating the offending tasks over and over, so that with repetition, they might slowly abate. I am still learning… many years later. I read a theory, by some “Guru”, that the strength you need during, as he put it, “ a misery” comes from inside, from the soul, through a separation of soul from body, so as not to feel physical pain. You can do this through meditation. I know I’m able to “ leave my body” to avoid pain, but I also know that when I was critically wounded, I deliberately searched for strength, and found it. It’s difficult to believe that ALL that healing power came from my soul only, as, at that time, it was more important for me to be WITH my body, and in touch with it, than separated from my “parts”. Healers speak of “white light” coming to you from meditation and/ or prayer. I felt what I call “good vibes” and positive energy from the strength of people close to me, and from those who prayed for me. Much of that strength has remained with me. Over the years I have had many reasons to be depressed, but that depression seems to vanish by itself. .

* * *

I have read others’ s of narrow escapes; some who have died and been resuscitated, others, who were given up for dead, but lived, and each one of us felt an enormous amount of gratitude .. an overwhelming desire to help others. My belief, as I have explained to Claire, recently, is that it’s a type of Karmic obligation that is almost impossible (or maybe IS impossible), to ignore. It’s a debt that must be repaid in some way. Everyone finds his or her own path. I seemed to have been directed to a Hospice organization the day I noticed a tiny article in a newspaper… . one that I had never before read. My children and friends thought I was totally crazy to want to spend any more time in a hospital. I told them, “It’s OK, this time I get to walk out.”

I felt that if it wasn’t right for me, then I was meant to do something else,but it was exactly right for me. The training I received there changed my life by affirming my awareness of the power of the Healing Universe, and understanding how to tap into that Power to help others, in addition to the selfhealing skills I had already discovered. It also taught me to LISTEN. I’m very good at talking, but “active listening” was a new skill. In the Hospice training we learned how to touch another person’s inner thoughts by looking into his/her eyes and holding hands. That’s where I found the power to heal through my hands by “pulling” the energy of the Healing Universe into my body and out of my fingertips into another person’s hands. I learned of the chakras, the energy centers of the body, and their colors. This was a tremendously spiritual experience. It was very valuable in helping ill patients and is quite helpful in my current capacity as a facilitator of a bereavement group..

25

The morning after we returned to The Lake house, we had the ceremony for Jules’ “cremains”.

I had my own small boat; a flat-bottomed open pontoon “party boat” with a canopy. It was no easy task for the kids and my friends to help me along the dock and onto the boat. Once I was settled, my grandchildren, good friends, Audrey and Gerry, and the remainder of the family climbed aboard. My son drove, as I was obviously unable to do so at that time. (The following summer, I DID drive myself, with my arm back in a cast. My Lake friends were dumfounded to see me calmly “sailing” along .)

We went north until we came to a bay that Lloyd thought was the right place. There we said the Hebrew prayer for the dead and spilled the cremains over the side. In a grotesque moment, a sudden breeze blew some of the ashes back. That was upsetting (an understatement), to the children. Benjamin, blinking and wiping his eyes, said,” I think some of Grampy just got in my eye!”

Lloyd then gave voice to a thought we all had… . that it was difficult to comprehend that the contents of such a small bag could encom the whole of what had been his father, a large man.

In retrospect, it was no different from any funeral, except this time the remains went into the water, not the ground. It was a solemn moment, each of us having our own thoughts. We said some eulogistic words, and Lloyd turned the boat towards home.

It was some time later that I realized that Jules’ name was not inscribed anywhere. There was no gravesite to visit. It was disturbing; as if he had no role in life. had never lived. Later, I had a plaque with his name placed in our Temple. We all felt relieved. Even the little ones, although they couldn’t read, insisted upon being lifted to touch the plaque, asking “This is Grampy’s name, isn’t it?”

This gave me thought. He was gone but so were all his memories, childhood adventures, and hopes. I decided recently, to write a letter each week to each of my six grandchildren telling them all the stories about their grandfather that I could recall. From there I’ve progressed to recounting all I knew about his parents, mine, and many other family tidbits from my life, and that of their own parents. This is their heritage. They should be aware of their origins.

* * *

After spending that night at the house, we all went our separate ways; Claire, home with the kids and my poodle; Lloyd, to Ithaca to finish some details of his doctorate, Audrey and Gerry had left following the “burial”. Ronni, Benjamin and I went to Albany, to her house. She had set up a bed in her newly built family room. She had a half-bath on the first floor, but no tub or shower. I was back to washing my “parts” again.

26

That first day, I insisted upon being taken to a hairdresser. I was a mess. If I didn’t realize it myself, one look at the beautician’s face as I was wheeled into the shop told the story. As Ari later said, I looked like something that escaped from a horror movie. Ronni took me to meet a friend after my small transformation, and we “lunched”. It was a wonderful boost to my spirits. I felt like a real person again, albeit one in bandages and a wheelchair.

* * *

Ronni had taken my dog, Mischu, home from The Lake with us. When I speak of the dedication of my daughters, I need to mention that both dogs, having been in the kennel for as long as I was hospitalized, were plagued with fleas. They had to be bathed repeatedly so as not to infest the entire house.

At first, Ben was ecstatic about having me there. He told everyone how lucky he was to have his Grammie right there with him all the time. He was an avid observer of the medical routines; cleaning and dressing the wounds on my legs, constant of my arm, and the physical therapy. He was a demanding only child and became somewhat jealous of the many hours Ronni spent helping me with all the bandages, getting in and out of the house when weather permitted, etc. I believe he began to resent the intrusion into his tight little family.

Shortly after I left for Claire’s, he refused to come near me. He said that I “smelled funny”. This may have been the olfactory memory of the hospital visits. He would have nothing to do with me. This was upsetting. It lasted for at least two years, and I was devastated by it. Both he and Ari had unexpressed

anger to deal with for many years. Ben had other issues… the divorce of his parents, his hyper—activity and the beginning of behavioral problems. Benjamin was never the same child after the accident. He became incorrigible. Ronni took him to therapists but was never able to give him “tough love” and follow through with the suggested limits. At that time he wouldn’t allow me to love him. Later, as an adolescent, he was to be diagnosed as having bi-polar disorder. In time, he and I became close again.

Ronni let the position in Nashville slip away so she could care for me. Therefore she was unemployed. She had left her Albany job thinking she would be leaving immediately for the south. (The best laid plans… .) She had no income. Jack was derelict in his child care payments. Before, Jules had been paying for the Nanny or the day care. She had focused all her energy on caring for me. Subsequently, when I was recovered, she took a teaching position in a women’s college in Raleigh, North Carolina, where she unfortunately married again.

* * *

The visiting nurse came three times a week. She agreed that Ronni was doing a very professional job of keeping my wounds sterile. The physical therapist came only once or twice a week. I was doing the therapy myself, in a similar way as I had done in the hospital. I did isometrics constantly. It worked well. I practiced visualization, keeping the “doozer” by the bed all the time. (He remains in his place of honor to this day).

Dr. Carl had explained that there was a five to seven inch space between the bones of my arm that was not expected to close. (The arm had been reinforced by stainless steel rods and bone that had been taken from my hip). I assuring him that I could close the gap. He was disbelieving. It took me one year. The “doozer”, my Angel, and I did it! I watched that little green guy go into my arm as he toiled. I believe my Angel(s) helped, too, as did the healing Power of the Universe.

After about a month, Ronni had had enough of me, and I no longer needed the help of the visiting nurse and therapist, Claire came to fetch me. They had a large five bedroom home, with stairs. I solved that problem by “crutching” up, and sliding down on my posterior, dragging my crutches with me. This arrangement worked well, and I could interact with 3 of my grandchildren every day.

Claire and John offered me the opportunity to live with them. I had the good sense to refuse. I told them with me there, they’d probably stop speaking to me in 2 weeks, and to each other permanently.

* * *

Children have a great amount of honesty. It was late October, by then, and Ari asked me if I could come to school with him for “show and tell” for Halloween. He said “After all, Grammy, you DO look like something in a horror movie.” Claire was upset, and I was laughing. It was funny. Another classic Ari story… when he originally saw me, he said he thought I was lucky because no-one could do anything for Humpty Dumpty.

Very soon after I moved to their home, Claire had yet another unpleasant task. I needed to go to the dentist ASAP. We got his last appointment of the day so that I would not need to interact with his other patients. When he looked into my mouth… I swear that I saw dollar signs in his eyes. It was obvious that major reconstruction was necessary. Many visits were scheduled. Some of the work was covered by insurance, but only a small percentage. We were disturbed that although he knew me as a long-term patient and was fully aware of my lack of financial resources, he began dunning me for payments. Months later Claire found that he had doubled-billed the insurance company, claiming payments for services that were never done. This was a serious matter. His attorney called me

to insist upon immediate payment. I informed him that we had paper proof of his client’s deceitful and illegal actions. I never heard from either of them again.

* * *

Baby Noah pulling poodle’s tail, 1988(6)

Ronni reading to Ari (left) and Benjamin (right) at Lake, circa 1986

Me, 19 years old when I met Jules Whitman1949.

Sunnyshores Motel..our first home on the Lake

ArI with Jules in St. Maartin, 1984

Jules with 8month old Miriam

Benjamin with Jules circa1986

Jules playing with Ari circa 1986

Ari and Grampy Jules in matching boat shirts, July 1981

Jules with me at pool, January 1988, St. Maartin

Jules with me eating out, St. Maartin, circa 1987

Late afternoon at Lake George

Sailing in St. Maartin. Jules in forefront, me in red scarf., circa 1983

Lloyd and Sue help shovel us out after another blizzard

Wood stove dining room in our lovely home at Lake, poodle, Addie. 1987

Me,sailing in St. Maartin, circa 1980

Good friends Audrey and Gerry, circa 2003

Best friend Mikki at lake circa 1980

My 3 children; Lloyd, Ronni, and Claire…circa 2005

Lloyd, 6 month old GRANDSON JULIAN & my Dad at 80-ish years old, interacting

My 6 grandchildrenfront;Julian,me, Alana, Ari; back; Miriam, Ben, Noah. circa 2009

Friends and family…my new life! circa 2008

My handsome husband, Charles. (Photo by L.W. Margolin)

Newelyweds Charles and Loll, 1994, on cruise

With Charles on my 82nd birthday, February, 2012

27

TEETH were a concern. We wanted to have a memorial service in New Jersey for all the friends; personal and business, most of whom had not been to the small private funeral at the Lake. People had called; they wanted to express condolences and wanted to see the children and me. I would not allow any arrangements to be made for a service until I had some teeth that didn’t resemble the fake wax teeth we used to buy for a penny at the candy store. (The hole in the middle of my tongue had at least partially healed.)

Rabbi Dick Sobol agreed to come to New Jersey to perform the service. ( Six years later he returned to New Jersey to officiate at my joyous marriage to my loving and patient husband, Charles.) Claire’s neighbor was a Cantor at a nearby Temple. He made some provisions for us to have the service there in the morning, to be followed by a light lunch at Claire and John’s home. I was on crutches alternating with a wheelchair when I got tired. I DID have what resembled teeth.

I had received a call from Beth Klafter, a lovely young woman who had been Lloyd’s girlfriend for the first two or more years that they were at Brown University. Coincidentally her mother and Jules had known each other in elementary school. We had been to over services at their Great Neck, Long Island home and they had spent several weekends with us at The Lake. She was studying to become a Rabbi at that time and requested the opportunity to say a few words at the eulogy. I was delighted that she spoke.

That day was difficult for me. My family and I had to re-live the last few months all over again.

Many of our friends and relatives came. Among them, of course, Mikki and Stan and Audrey and Gerry .I was surprised to see that an old friend, my on-againoff-again high school and college great love and close friend to the Machlins, also there. Most of the people had been friends of ours for many, many years.

* * *

Ari was happy to have me in his house. He was a funny, sensitive little boy .One day as he was ‘helping” me down the stairs, he said,” Grammy, can I tell you something?”

“Of course”, I told him. “What is it?”

“Well, I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

I assured him I wanted to hear what he had to say and he wouldn’t hurt my feelings. With the puzzled look he sometimes wore when I said something silly, or a bit off beat, he looked up in my face and retorted, Grammy you ARE a little wacky.” From the mouths of babes.

Claire also had the task of “schlepping” me back and forth to Albany in one day for check-ups. She had time for this, as she was recently unemployed. She had worked for her father as his assistant “rep” for seven years, often going out on calls herself. She was a great asset to him. (Jules had represented a furniture factory.) Together they were responsible for more than half of the national business, however, TWO DAYS after the accident she was told she no longer had a job. She had lost her father, her income, and her pension. We discovered Jules had neglected to set one up for her, as promised. Indeed, life is not always

fair.

* * *

In Albany we would meet Ronni and have lunch together. I trying to walk, and how tactful they were at my fumbling attempts. They weren’t always kind. I recall one day while we were waiting to see Dr. Dolph, I was experimenting taking baby steps. They laughed at me and soon the three of us were whooping with great big giggles in the hospital waiting room. I WAS DETERMINED. It took quite a bit of practice, but I DID IT with the help of my Angel, Spirit Guide and the Great Spirit of the Healing Universe, who I now absolutely knew was there.

no more, no more

(Aug 14th, PTSD)

I have been to a place where hell would not go where demons live and swallow your mind

to leave yourself and your time

return to horror not quite ed

yet perfectly recalled relived being there totally out of body your essence redolent of what was not conscious

regurgitated in hysteria wrung out emptied of the terror the horror the gruesome the pain and the blood tissues torn body broken

“I CAN’T BREATHE”I scream silently in the dark

I have been in the blackness Where hell would not go Where demons live I have been there before

no more, no more

Lollie W. Margolin

Home Again

The New World

28

The Ancients knew that the trinity of mind-body-soul is innate in all humans. It’s true that each life is a time of learning. In the days, weeks and months after August 14, 1988, I found an ability to focus and heal at least one entity… my body . I thank the Power of our Great Universe for this gift. I learned much from the experience; perhaps I might have acquired this knowledge anyway, but I’ll never know that. I faced a challenge and “learned”, in the sense of finding a new way to Be. Life will forever consist of before and after .The Taoist concept of “live in the now”, is one that I strive for, but I know that I’m not “there” yet.

In the book, “The Power of Now” by Eckhart Tolle, he says, “ In the absence of time, all your problems dissolve. Suffering needs time; it cannot survive in the NOW.

I can take issue with this. When I feel pain, as I often do… it’s NOW. Perhaps I’m not yet as enlightened as I need to be. There’s still much learning to be done.

29

Because of his being newly married, finishing up at Cornell, and job hunting, I didn’t see much of Lloyd during the time I was with Claire and John and their children..

I wanted to go home. I hadn’t been back to our three story condominium yet. The girls wouldn’t allow this until they felt I could take care of myself. This meant dressing (thank heavens for the front-opening bras), getting myself up and down the stairs, getting my own meals, and OH, walking two dogs while on crutches. The right crutch was fitted with a shelf for my encased arm with a little handle to grasp with my fingers, BUT the angle of the cast did not line up with the handle. I hitched the crutch up under my right arm, and off I went. Carrying an umbrella while walking the dogs was definitely a challenge.

It was mandatory for me to call one of my friends or Claire before AND after I went up or down the steps. I knew this was to ensure my safety, but what a nuisance it was.

The dogs were there for me always at my side, happy for us all to be home. It hurt my heart, the way they waited every evening about six o’clock for the garage door to open. It never did and after a few weeks they stopped waiting for Jules’ return.

* * *

I had very faithful long-time friends living nearby, in addition to having Claire only minutes away. They came and helped me into their cars, took me out to eat, so that I felt like a “real” person again. They all were accommodating. My first venture back into my previous social venue was initiated by my dear friend, Gail. I had just settled in at Claire’s when she called to tell me to get my coat on as they were picking me up to take me to dinner. I protested. I had NO TEETH, I could only get “sweats” on over my leg bandages. I felt like a freak. I had crutches with a shelf. Her cousin was ing us. I was ambivalent… really didn’t want to be seen, yet I was ready to “be human” again. We went to a local Chinese restaurant, a very casual place, so that I wouldn’t feel self-conscious. I could only eat soft food, and held my hand over my mouth when I spoke, in order to hide my toothless face. They were my incredible system in addition to Claire, who was on call 24/7. (At this writing, Gail is in a nursing home due to the precarious condition of her heart, and the many heart attacks that have precluded the possibility of further treatment. I am grieving for her.) Sadly, she has since ed over. I will forever be in her debt for many reasons. Audrey and Gerry invited me to their home a few times a week. After dinner we would sit upstairs in their small loft, listen to music, or watch television. They’ve always been family. One day I said to them, “You know, sooner or later you’re going to get tired of seeing my face at your dinner table.” They told me they’d let me know when… . that day never came.

People who want you in their lives are similar to family. They’re friends who care, and who always will.

After I’d get home, and walk my “girls”, I was obliged to call them and Claire to let them all know I was home for the night. Sometimes I had to call again after making the trip up three flights of steps intact. It was occasionally irritating, but I knew I was loved.

30

As all bereaved know, the paper work is an insult after everything else you’ve had to deal with. As Claire had worked for and with her father, she was the only one who could attempt to untangle the mess he’d left. Lloyd also arrived to help make sense of the finances, and to determine what my “holdings “ were. What a shock to all of us to discover that there weren’t any. Jules, as I explained earlier, was a compulsive spender and a pathological liar. He and I had argued about this on a daily basis. I had often told him that if we lived to be old we’d be on welfare. I have been vindicated, but am not happy about being right about this. Bad judgment ,excessive spending, refusal to listen to his advisers, left NOTHING. He was expert at deficit spending… leaving me with… a deficit. It took years for this concept to become a reality. I’m still working on it.

While we were engaged in the horrendous task of looking at all the papers, Claire realized that an important document was missing. We both searched for hours, opening and closing file drawers, shuffling through stacks of bills and statements, in vain. It was imperative that we have this piece of paper.

That night before I went to bed, thoroughly frustrated, I stood in front of Jules’ picture. In a very stern voice, I told him that he’d better tell me immediately where to look. We needed that document. I felt nothing odd about doing this. I fully expected to receive some sort of answer.

About three o’clock in the morning I was awakened by a sound from the loft above the bedroom. Since the dogs weren’t “woofing” I assumed that there was nothing to alarm me. However, first thing in the morning I went upstairs to the desks and file cabinets. I was startled to see that one of the file drawers had sprung open. It had never done that before. It had made the sound that had awakened me.

I called Claire and asked her to come back perhaps… maybe, her father had shown us where to look. When she stood at the cabinet, she protested, “Mom, I looked in here.”

I had my hand on the top of the cabinet. Looking down, I picked up an envelope, opened it; there was the “missing” letter. We had searched in the files, not on them.

The paper work is the bane of the bereaved. It comes, and continues to keep coming. One day, in a fit of frustration and temper, I made a fire in our fireplace, and burned them all.

* * *

Our attorney at The Lake had been less than efficient. As New Jersey residents, we were unaware of the New York state edict regarding spousal exclusion. In other words, a spouse cannot sue his/her spouse for injuries. The attorney had never advised us to put everything in BOTH of our names: the boat ownership, the house and all our New York State holdings. Because the boat was ed solely in Jules’ name, I was not entitled to any liability monies. I was unable to “sue” his estate for my injuries. It was decided by the court that due to the fact that the throttle had been pushed forward by Jules as he was thrust forward at the impact with the sea wall, we “may” have been traveling too fast for the inclement weather conditions, therefore,legally, he had sole liability for the accident. Again, due to the spousal exclusion laws in New York, and the inadequacy of our attorney, who neglected to advise us of this law, I was entitled to… . NOTHING. I attempted to sue my attorney for malpractice, but due to some legal “shenanigans”, she was able to avoid the suit. I got nothing at all. I believe that it absolutely HAD been her responsibility to inform us of the New York law, as we were New Jersey residents and unaware of this I have since

heard that this law has been rescinded.

* * *

I was working hard at healing, being taken back to Albany for checkups, and just attempting to continue to function.

I began to drive again, locally. My new Mercedes convertible, (which I had never wanted, but had appeared magically in our driveway as a Hanukkah gift from Jules ) was long gone, due to the lack of insurance on the lease. The GMC “four-by four” was still in our driveway, not paid for, as Jules hadn’t bothered to get insurance on that loan, either. The cost would have been four dollars a month. I was driving using my left hand and some fingers of my right hand. I didn’t ask the doctors’ permission, as I knew it would be withheld. This gave me a bit of autonomy.

31

For several years, January meant Sint Maartin, in the Netherlands Antilles. Jules had bought MANY weeks there. Never content with two or three, he purchased what amounted to six weeks of an up/down “lock-out” duplex unit, usable as two units or, if we occupied one, the remaining unit was rented. Originally, when the grandchildren were babies they came with their parents and slept in the downstairs apartment. Often friends had ed us for a week using the downstairs studio.

Being there at the same place and same time year after year enabled us to become friendly with a large group. We were young. We had many pool barbeque’s, went to Mark’s place ( a local restaurant ) every week for lunch, consuming a case of wine and ending up at the beach. We took day sails, chartered small boats as a group,hired steel bands for pool parties.

We” partied hearty”. Someone would bring a pitcher of pina coladas to the pool. When that had been consumed, someone else would supply another. We had a large, compatible group of friends for several years. However, after the Accident when I was alone, I became either a pariah to be avoided as if I had typhoid fever, or as a sexual object to be conquered by some of the former male friends as soon as their wives were out of sight.

Together we had enjoyed our time there. New Year’s Eve had been our anniversary.

After The Accident, it seemed natural for me to be in St. Maartin in the beginning of January, because that’s where I always had gone at that time. I

booked myself for my three week stay, planning that Ronni would me the first week, I’d be alone the second… . never believing that I’d actually be alone as I was sure that I had many good friends to spend my time with. Claire and the children had plans to be with me for the third week.

IT WAS A DISASTER. After a trauma it’s well known (or should be) that the brain is not functioning as it had before the event. I actually didn’t realize how alone I was. Until this time I had been primarily concerned with healing. Suddenly I realized the full force of the bereavement process. WOW.

I arrived there on our anniversary. I didn’t comprehend the fact that many people didn’t know that Jules had been killed. I was still wearing some small bandages on my ankles. I meeting a friend on the path. She asked me why I was bandaged. I casually said, “Oh, it’s still from the accident.”

She then had to be told that Jules was dead. She turned pale and called for her husband. They were quite upset. I found myself consoling them. This scenario was repeated several times during my stay. It was not pleasant.

* * *

New Year’s Eve: Ronni has said it was one of the worst nights of her life. I had been invited to several homes to “stop in for a drink”. I went to each of them. By the time I reached the Casino at the bottom of the hill, I was “wasted” . . . . i.e. drunk, lonesome, and teary. The manager of the casino was a large local gentleman, Norman, whom we had known from the resorts’ inception. He and Jules had had a bantering, good natured relationship. He saw me come in, naturally approached and asked, “Where is Jules?”. Just as naturally, I broke down . He also became teary. There we were, two of us, crying in a crowded resort casino on New Year’s Eve.

* * *

After Ronni left, I had become a pariah. No-one wanted to sit at the pool with me. They discussed lunch or dinner plans as if I wasn’t sitting right there. I was still me… what had changed? It was confusing. They made plans to charter a boat for a day sail and beach picnic, as we all had always done together. I was NOT included. I was widowed, not deaf, nor dead nor infectious. One day I spotted a friend starting to walk up the steps to the pool, see me sitting alone reading, and quickly turned as though to leave. I jumped up and actually chased him. I told him that I was not contagious and he should have no fear that I would cling to him and cry. In short, he did not have to be afraid of me but could talk to me as though I had remained human..

I was still a pretty lady, and many of the women didn’t want me to be alone with their husbands. I didn’t want their husbands, I wanted mine.

I had a bet with myself. I had been advised that men would “come on” to me now that I was alone. I correctly figured which one would be the first. As usual, I was sitting at the pool alone when the husband I had thought would be the one to make the … did so. He was a large man. Looming over me in my pool chaise he aggressively suggested that “he had what I needed”. I informed him to remove himself fast, or his treasured parts would suffer irreversible damage. He never approached me again.

That second week was hell. I would have jumped on the first flight out except for Claire. I knew that the grandkids were counting on the week at the beach with me. So, I stayed. In the middle of the week I developed bronchitis and a fever. That wasn’t bad except for not being able to get to the small on-site deli for food. Only my friend Marilyn shopped for a few things, brought them to me and kept me company for a short while. No-one else called or stopped in.

Being angry enabled me to avoid dipping into the “pity pool.”.

Diana was a much younger, very attractive acquaintance who took me aside and explained the facts of life… . the new life. She had been widowed young, and having been through this process gave me some words of wisdom. I didn’t believe one word of what she said, however, she was right. She informed me that I would lose friends. OH NO, not me. My friends were gems that would always be there for me. (The REAL friends always were). She said that I would become a “target” for men who wanted to prove their manhood. Ooops… I had already experienced that. Last, I would enjoy spending time with other widows. UGH! My feeling was, “No way”. She was smart. She knew what she was talking about. To my great surprise, I did lose friends. To this day, I don’t understand why, but I’m not going to obsess over it.

I stayed away from the island for a few years, returning only for a week or two, and then only with friends or my daughters. Over time it became easier. After I married Charles, once again we began to use the time-share every year. We sold all of the units in the original resort, and bought a couple of weeks in a different one. We still enjoyed the island, however, most of the people we used to “hang out” with are no longer there. Time has taken a toll. Some have ed from this life, some are too old or ill to travel, and others are in different life-stages. Nothing stays the same… . ever.

32

It took until winter to for me to start to yearn for a piece of my old life back. I wondered how it would feel to be in The Lake house again. With my trusty furry pals, I braved the north country winter and the snowy winding roads. After letting the dogs into the house, I turned on the heat, went back out to the carport, and lugged in an arm full of wood. (One arm, my right, was still in a cast). I felt like an old-time frontier woman as I started up the wood stove, turned down the oil heater and called my friends, Winnie and Howard Josias, with whom I had arranged to meet for dinner.

There were two couples who spent many winter weekends up north; Jason and Barbara Baker and Winnie and Howard (Both couples had also been our friends at Canon Point.) They were often there for me. Howard is a gourmet cook. Any time I could get my 4x4 up their long hill, through the snow, we would have drinks and dinner, spending a pleasant evening, as we did “before.”

The previous summer, I had learned how to wash the filters and work the ozone cleansing system in our built-in hot tub. With the “girls” nearby, I spent many peaceful hours lazing there gazing up at the snow-covered skylight. I stayed up as late as I could, reluctant to be alone in that empty bed.

* * *

It was cozy, being at The Lake, watching the snow, and enjoying company. Audrey and Gerry were frequent weekend guests. I wonder now, in retrospect, if being there made Gerry sad. He’s a quiet man, but seemed more introspective than usual during those visits. Mikki once reminded me that I was not the only

one grieving. That was a jolt. I had never thought of the effect on our friends. She and Stan frequently came north to keep me company. Those friends are more than friends. Both Gerry and Stan are as brothers to me. Mikki is, and always will be, an integral part of me, as much as an eye or my heart.. Audrey and I have been close for years. I am blessed.

North Country Winter

the first intake of air

freezes the small hairs

inside your nose

your fingertips toes and nose

become numb

the reflected sun tans your face

your boots make an explosive crunch

with each careful step you take

on the encrusted-porcelain-topped surface

as you walk

the exquisite lacework transforming the trees

will mutate as the temperature rises

the quiet is marred by an occasional

crackling of ice on the lake

as it shifts with the underwater current

here the earth is as beautiful

as ever it can be.

* * *

One February weekend I had been invited to have dinner with Pearl and Walter Munzer, a couple from Glens falls, a town just south of Lake George. (We knew them from years back when we all were guests at Sunnyshores Motel.) It was my birthday, and Ronni was with me enjoying a leisurely dinner and good company at their club. One of their friends, a member of the Temple, a tall, nice looking man, came over to the table to chat. Shortly, he asked me if I was married. For a moment my heart skipped a beat. Married? Of course I’m married . . . . then… no I’m not.

The realization was visceral. It’s a moment that comes to every person who has lost a mate. It’s one more shock. You’re coping… then the question, “Are you married?”

LATER

After almost a year later I was having pain in my right wrist and arm. It was decided that I needed surgery to remove one of the metal “bars’ pressing on my wrist. This would give me more mobility and hopefully, less pain. . As brave as I had been until then, I was having “butterflies” about another foray into the operating room in Albany. I was in the throes of PTSD by then, and was NOT a happy camper. After being “prepped” and wheeled into the operating area, I saw my friend with his ubiquitous blue “shower cap”. He was surprised to see me again, and we played “catch up” for a while. However, when I was taken to the door of the operating room, I became hysterical. This was a surprise. I had always been so stoic. I was crying, trembling and scared. All of the previous experiences came rushing back. A lovely young woman came to me, bent down and held my hand for a few minutes. I recall that she was very pretty and youthful. I laughed… told her she was probably younger than my kids, and was surprised when she assured me she was an OR doctor, almost forty years old. She gave me some intravenous sedation, told me she’d stay with me, and out I went, somewhat calmer.

I awoke in the recovery room. The plan was to assign me a room for the night and discharge me in the morning if all went well. BUT… I was hungry. Claire managed to sneak into the recovery room to sit with me. (Also to reassure herself that I was OK). When I complained about being starved, she went out, returned with a hamburger and fries. The nurse on duty, sniffing the food, followed her nose, discovered us and indignantly told me that I was not being itted to a room for the night, and was to leave the recovery room ASAP. We had broken all the rules. I was delighted, and back to New Jersey we went with my arm in a cast again.

After several months it was necessary for me to have another operation. There was a plethora of glass remaining in my scalp. Dr. Dolph believed that most of it could be removed. At the same time, he planned to eliminate some of the

remaining facial scars, itting me to a hospital other than Albany Medical Center. We didn’t expect that I would have any emotional problems with this procedure. It appeared to go well.

One of the unusual talents I had developed was the ability to trance. I could leave my body. A few weeks after this operation one of the incisions on the side of my face opened. We rushed back to Albany, but I did NOT want to go back into any hospital. It was agreed to do the repair in the office surgery. I refused any anesthetic, as I was becoming allergic to many medications. I asked for a few minutes to “leave”, explained to the puzzled doctor what I meant, and began to go into a very deep trance. Claire assured him that I was OK, as I had done this before.

If I go deep into the trance, I’ll hear any voices as though they are far away, and won’t be able to respond to questions. He was able to repair my incision, using several stitches without anesthetic. Oddly, this makes doctors very nervous as this is something that they rarely encounter, and probably don’t believe possible. I had learned self-hypnosis. It’s a helpful skill.

34

I ached to be back on The Lake. I still had my twenty foot pontoon boat with its small fifty horsepower motor. I felt that if I was at The Lake, I wanted to be ON The Lake. Mischu, the other dog, had been sick and had to be “put to sleep” a few months prior to this. I took my little poodle, Addie, and we sailed out. I felt such an overwhelming sense of achievement mingled with hilarity as I saw the amazement on my friends’ faces when I pulled up to their docks that summer of 1999. I COULD DO IT. And I could do it with one arm back in a cast! Claire always warned me that I’d break my good arm patting myself on my back.

The grandkids came up to be with me, as they had done before. They begged to go fishing. I ed Jules’ secret spots and we headed into the lee of a small island. I could help them bait their hooks, but was uncomfortable thinking of what I would do if they actually caught something. I had no clue as to “unbait” a hook to get a fish off. They caught a few small fish that were not “keepers”. Fortunately Claire took them off the hook and threw them back to grow.. We all went home flushed with the success of our adventure.

The grandkids always wanted to go fast. My boat was severely underpowered. I would tell them, “OK, hold on tight,here we go… get ready to ZOOM.” We’d putt… . putt… putt slowly along the water while I explained that we were in fact “zooming”. Those were fun days even though Ari never got over missing his Grampy.

* * *

Fourth of July was a exciting time on The Lake. The fireworks from the various

towns were best seen from the water. Claire, Ronni and the small ones piled onto the boat and we went out to the middle of the lake, waited for dusk and the start of the displays. Just as it became dark we heard the rumbling of thunder in the distance. I began to panic. As I said, my boat was underpowered, and even at full speed, crawled along the lake’s surface. The storm came closer, and I tried not to become hysterical, so and alarm the children, but was hyperventilating and trembling. Tears were streaming down my face. I fell apart. I had a full-blown panic attack. Once again, Claire came to the rescue. She had driven my boat before, took the helm, and got us home, albeit in a raging storm. The kids thought it was all great fun. I went to bed and took a valium.

I did use my little boat many times after that, but never at night, alone. Alas, one winter, while stored up in the woods, an ice storm damaged it badly. It resembled a large ball of aluminum foil. Poor boat. It had served me well.

One day that first summer, I was by myself. I decided to visit Bolton Landing, the charming town north of Lake George Village, where I had friends. We had once owned a house there in an association, for a short time. There was a marina/boat sales establishment on a side street that we knew well. Jules had often ired a particular new boat they had. We had discussed this boat and his desire for it. I had asked him for his promise NOT to buy the boat or any boat that first year we were in the new house as we really couldn’t afford it. He agreed and swore this to me, therefore it was a surprise when Donny, nephew of the owner, asked me if I “still wanted the green boat”.

Jules had been negotiating for the boat, despite his sworn promise, for some months! I told Donny that I had no interest in a new boat. He was disappointed but very sad, knowing of Jules’ demise in the Accidentt.

35

A neighbor suggested I go to a bereavement group. I had never heard of this type of group, but I was interested in any help I could get. After trying one group and feeling it was not for me, I found another at the Northfield YMHA in Livingston, New Jersey.

Many people feel that a bereavement group is a place to cry and listen to others’ sad stories. However, it’s also a place to laugh, to bond, and to share confidences. We gave each other strength. The facilitator was a young woman, a bit cold, I thought, but she kept the discussions on track.

At the introductory meeting, we each told our “story”. I could write a book just about that first gathering; there were tales of family bitterness, sudden death, multiple loss, infidelity, medical incompetence and more. There was no turning back. The old life was gone. The concept of “forever” is difficult for the bereaved brain. We now were in unchartered territory.

There were eight women and two or three men. The men dropped out when the group ended, but as we women continued to meet. We coalesced into a smaller, closer unit of five. A degree of intimacy, and a strong bond developed among us. We became each other’s confidantes and best friends. We told each other the “shocking” events of our new lives. We never judged. We listened. We gave unconditional love and . This relationship was constant for about ten years, even after two of us remarried and two others acquired partners. After I moved from the area I lost the day-to-day with them, but the special closeness will always remain. Recently I got a call from one of the “girls” telling me that one of our original was ill. Sadly, I didn’t get to see her in time. Last week she ed from cancer. I hadn’t seen her for several years. She and one of the other group of friends had been in St. Maartin with us the week

that my husband, Charles, and I had become engaged. She will always be special to me for many reasons. Not the least was her ebullient personality.

36

It seems to be a rule of the Universe, that when you come very close to being “on the other side” and inexplicably return, you MUST give something back. I knew this, and after seeing the small article about the need for Hospice volunteers, went to John F. Kennedy Medical center in Edison to apply. I had two interviews that day. I was told I was a viable candidate, BUT should wait until a full year had ed after my bereavement, and then re-apply. Of course I went back and was happy to be accepted for the Hospice training; a six-eight week course.

This was another turning point in my life. First we learned how to ACTIVELY LISTEN. For me, this was a new skill. I have always been a chatterer. We learned how to be quiet, and just BE. Sitting still and allowing the energy of the Universe to fill you, is an awesome experience. I never knew that I could consciously touch the healing Power of the universe, bring it into my own body, and, by touching another person, give him some of that Power. Perhaps that’s what some call the “laying on of hands”.

A “funny” thing happened when my father was in hospice in Florida, several years after the Accident. It was two days before he ed from this life. I wanted to help him; to give him peace. I took his hands in mine and I focused. There must have been a bit too much energy in the process, because suddenly he pulled his hands away. I asked him what was wrong. He was very peeved and replied, “You burnt my fingers!”

I only meant to help, but I irritated him. I was too intense, but by using that energy properly, we can help others.

The creative force engendered in a circle is also a wonderful healing tool, as is holding hands and quietly feeling the essence of another person. We spent much of our Hospice training seated in a circle to maximize our energy flow. We were taught to speak to, and hear the family of the patient. We began to understand the control that the terminal patient has over his own life.

Many times a patient waited for a loved one to come from another place, visit with him, then peacefully when they left. My husband’s late wife did it, she waited for her son to arrive from his home in Israel before she “left.” Conversely, my father waited for us to leave his Hospice room to die. We had no sooner reached my parents’ home, when the phone rang, telling us of his ing. He did not want us there when he died. Many medical and Hospice workers can relate similar tales. It confirms the power the brain has over the body. We can actually dictate the time of our death.

If this training were to be included in each medical school curriculum, there would be a better understanding among patients, families, and doctors, and an easier age from this life..

As much as I learned from the training and visiting with patients and the families, I was even more motivated by the bereavement process. After being a hospital volunteer for four or five years, I was given a year of apprenticeship and training; I became a “lay bereavement counselor”.

The bereavement training was intimate and personal. We learned to relate on a one-to one level. Most of the meetings involved breaking up into small groups, doing our assigned exercises, then re-forming into a large circle. The one-to-one s taught us how to hold a stranger’s hand, look into her/his eyes and focus. We discovered that we could assimilate the other person’s feelings; sadness, happiness, etc. just by focusing and making eye . This skill is so very important when being at a patient’s bedside as well as being with the family..

This was the time we learned to pull the Healing Energy of the Universe into our bodies and transfer that energy to the patient through touch. (As I had attempted to do for my father). We had become conduits. It was phenomenal. It worked. This seemed to me to be an affirmation of the concept that we all are part of One Great Mind, and that we can “tap” into it.

The trainers were exceptional spiritual human beings who helped us stretch to reach our potentials. This was another time of spiritual growth for me I began to read more about living and dying, and “the other side”. I began to read the teachings of Buddha. This was, and is, helpful in giving me a new insight as well as a new way of thinking. I recommend the book “The Tao of Pooh” as an example of knowing that what is, IS. It helped me to accept things as they are, not to expect anything to be other than what it is. I may not be explaining this well; it eases accepting what cannot be changed, i.e. my “broken” (albeit healed) and fragile body.

Just as I called upon my inner self and intuition when teaching my “special” kids years before, I needed to feel my way when meeting with my first patients. Even after all the training, “getting my feet wet” was intimidating. The terminal patients were so very needy. Sometimes hand holding was called for. Other times, active advocacy was necessary. There was one patient who had been told to keep her feet up, but was uncomfortable while resting her legs high on a chair. There was no appropriate footstool. I asked for a large recliner that wasn’t being used, to be brought into her room, only to be told that it belonged on another floor. After visiting other patients I noticed the big chair still empty, still on that floor. Quietly, I “appropriated” it, wheeled it into the patient’s room, made her much more comfortable, accepted her thanks, and left smiling.

If there’s anyone in the world savvy in the ways of a hospital, it’s me.

Sometimes it was frustrating. One woman’s fingernails were digging into her palms. I spoke to the nurse regarding trimming her nails. I was told that first, she needed a prescription from a doctor, then a podiatrist had to be called, an appointment made, and only then could her nails be cut. I answered that by then they would be coming out the other side of her hands.

* * *

Just the other day something happened to momentarily erase all of my lovely philosophy and allowed me to dip both feet into the “pity pool.” We were at a milestone birthday party for a friend. I sat and watched as the women whirled and turned on the dance floor, in their fashionable high heels. Not one appeared to be having pain in any part of her body. I was overcome with a sense of sadness and loss. I had been an accomplished ballroom dancer with pretty legs before the accident. I often have to remind myself of the things that I CAN do rather than what I cannot do. Fortunately, these self-pity moments are few and far between. I work hard at keeping them at bay. I never forget to thank my Angel for all the blessings that I have.

* * *

Helping others is the best way to help yourself. And I needed help. I was attempting to deal with the grieving process and the bitterness of discovery… of my husband’s financial duplicity, and the necessary extensive dental work. Most of my teeth had either been chipped, cracked or knocked out entirely. The others were affected by the blunt force trauma, and years later the roots began to die. I had no insurance after the first three years. My life was a challenge at that time. BUT.I was learning.

37

There were many poignant moments. A young man who knew both of my daughters from school, was dying of AIDS. I was wearing a silver Mezuzah that had been a gift from my cleaning person… another story for another time.

He looked up as the Mezuzah dangled from its chain when I leaned over his bed. He asked me, “Isn’t that a Mezuzah?”

“Yes it is”, I answered

“ I had a nice one once, but I left it at someone’s house, and never went back to get it”, he told me wistfully.

“Would you like to have this one?” I offered.

“You would give that to me?” He was incredulous.

“Yes, It was given to me in friendship, and I’d be happy to give it to you if you really want it, “ I told him. I watched his face light up. He asked me if I would want it back… . after, or if he could leave it to his nephew, as he had little else to leave. I explained that once I gave it to him, it belonged to him; whatever he did with it was his choice. I then removed the chain from over my head and placed it over his. I marveled at his peaceful expression. I felt content.

Just three weeks later, I was part of the group of volunteers who were each spending two or three hours comforting him in his home while he took his last breaths. We took turns holding his hand and spoke to him. The auditory sense is the last to leave the body, (and the first to develop). It’s important for everyone to know that he or she is not alone when the time comes to depart the body. Although, I don’t doubt that one’s Angel is with you, people should also be with you during the transition to the other side. I believe it’s comforting. It can be difficult for the helper, as I watched each breath come more slowly than the last, his soul shimmering around his body. He left just after my “turn” was over. I wasn’t there when the last breath came.

The Hospice volunteers do this to give respite help to the family. Usually we’re there during the day. The following afternoon I chose to stay at the house with another volunteer to help ready things for the mourners returning from the funeral. To the present day I find it difficult to attend funerals. I still get flashbacks.

38

Not only did we spend time with the patients and their loved ones, we gave to the surviving family . We were assigned three people to call once or twice a month, write our comments, and make our reports just as we did after visiting a patient.

I had one woman on my call list who had lost her husband suddenly. He had had a heart attack while driving to work on a major highway. This had been a second marriage for them and she had called him “the love of her life.”

Sudden death is the most difficult adjustment according to experts in the field, and is more of a trauma than watching the progress of a long illness. She was devastated and in denial. She had an experience to tell me about. (This was only one of such experiences that I’ve heard and/or known personally of.)

She related that she just could not accept the fact that the bond between them was severed. Very much as I had done, she spoke to her husband while looking at his pictures on the stairwell wall. One was her favorite. She beseech ed him to give her a sign if he was with her… if he could hear her. Immediately after she spoke those words her favorite picture of her husband fell off the wall, rolled unbroken down the steps, landing face up at her feet! It does make you think.

There have been other events that have made me believe in the concept of continuing life of the spirit apart from the life of the body.

When the husbands of two friends ed within a few years of each other, all

the gathered mourners witnessed the same phenomena. Each time the deceased’s name was mentioned aloud in the prayers, the lights dimmed.

When my daughter Ronni moved to Albany they bought an old house, formerly occupied for many years by one woman who ed at the age of ninety. Shortly after moving Ronni began to redo the home, tearing down walls, replacing counters, etc. Strange things began to occur; water ran in the shower, lights went on and off, doors opened and closed… all signs that someone, or something, was sharing the home with them, perhaps upset at the changes being made. She went through the house one day speaking softly, she explained that she was helping the house, not hurting it, making it more beautiful. Shortly after that, the disturbances stopped.

39

I have become a believer in more than one world. Some of the psychics and mediums say that the shimmering world of the spirit exists parallel to ours, but at a different frequency… one that is higher and faster. I neither believe nor disbelieve this, but I have seen many unusual occurrences that seem to be explained by believing that there IS another plane, and some sort of life of the spirit. I’ve mentioned the strange file drawer opening, and the of the picture. Many people have seen and read the words of the medium, John Edward, among others. It’s easy to debunk, but there are things we do not yet understand. I often use the example of Galileo. He was jailed for heresy for daring to say that the earth rotated around the sun, not the other way around. We are not yet privy to many things. I believe it is physics and it is as yet not understood.

40

We had stayed in the same motel, Sunnyshores, for years until it was sold. That was the sign that we were meant to have a place of our own. Several friends followed suit finding homes or condominiums used all year-round. My children grew up on this lake. Claire was only eight weeks old when she was introduced the this area. We loved the winters as much as the summers. Winter carnivals, ice sculptures, snow mobile races, etc. gave us pleasure. I learned how to crosscountry ski on The Lake. The kids went downhill skiing at nearby mountain trails.

It became apparent that I could not remain in our dream house. Even with my new part time employment, which I was enjoying, I didn’t have enough money to cover the mortgage. Jules had decided not to have mortgage insurance on the four or five various properties he had purchased. Another really short-sighted decision. I had looked at a condominium complex back on the west side of The Lake, another stupid decision, figuring that I’d clear lots of money from the sale of our large, lovely home. Actually, I couldn’t afford either, this was knowledge that my addled brain was just not ready to accept. I put my house on the market, and began packing… . slowly, with one arm again in a cast. Tears ran down both cheeks as I filled one carton after another. I tried some self-talk. “This is just “stuff” I told me. My answer was; “But it’s MY stuff.”

I did what I had to do. The kids came up to help on weekends. Sometimes there just aren’t any choices. Here they had learned to swim, to water ski, to enjoy packing up all the goodies we needed for great picnic dinners on the islands.

My decision to buy a condo was also ill advised. I really couldn’t afford it, but my mind didn’t comprehend that my Lake days were at an end. There had been too many years; too many life events that revolved around the beauty of the

mountains; the loveliness of the evenings as the glow of the rising moon put the hills in dark contrast and liquid silver spilled into the water, midnights when the Aurora Borealis flashed and played above us in the late August sky. Filled with grief, I couldn’t bring this major part of my life to an end… . not yet.

* * *

Many winter afternoons were spent with friends playing bridge for hours, or sitting with the Sorensons having a late afternoon cocktail watching the snow fall. Paradise in white.

This was the home of my soul. I had to leave it all behind me with many regrets.

My dear friend, Mikki , had seemed disappointed. She had asked me if I had had a near-death experience during or right after, The Accident. I didn’t. I couldn’t have been closer to death. My Angel has been with me, and has been called upon for help so often, that I’ve joked the poor thing must be ready for a vacation, or a helper. I’ve always had help from someone or something.

Charles

41

I had often said I would not stay alone long. About a year after the “event”, with my arm back in a cast, I began dating again. Strange, this idea of dating as an adult! My good friend, Gail, had introduced me to a man she knew from business. I went out him for a couple of years. No-one liked him. My kids hated him. My comment to them was “This is my life. I’m not going to marry him… do not interfere”.

After a while I got tired of being with him and began to date a couple of other men whose company I enjoyed. It was lovely being sought after and wined and dined. One day Gail called me about an ad she had seen in the New Jersey Magazine. She felt that the man who wrote it was perfect for me and I should promptly respond. I procrastinated for weeks until I finally did answer that ad, resulting in meeting Charles Margolin, a retired Superintendent of Schools. We were immediately compatible. On our second date Charles had said “It’s so nice to be with someone who’s on the same wavelength”. I had felt that too.

One day, after conducting a class in a Temple in Westfield, NJ, I was in a nasty accident while leaving the parking lot. I had called Charles instead of Claire to come and comfort me. That was the beginning of our close relationship.

Three months later I went to St. Maartin with two women from my bereavement group as my guests. Charles had invited himself to us. I believe I didn’t protest too vigorously. While we were there we just happened upon a jewelry store. We became engaged on January tenth, 1994, three months after we met, and married on May tenth!

Charles lived in Metuchen, NJ, for approximately thirty years, about 5 miles from Edison, NJ, where we had had a home. He was acquainted with many of the same people I knew. He had been a principal in the Metuchen school system, where I had taught for ten years. He and his late wife had played bridge with the same people we played with. We had never met.

* * *

About five years ago Charles had to be medi-evacuated from a cruise in Mexico to a Florida hospital. Parts of the experience were very difficult, not the least dealing with the Florida doctors. The Mexican doctor had been an excellent cardiologist and an empathetic man. In Florida I stayed in my uncle’s condo, rented a car, and drove back and forth to engage in my daily combat with the doctors. They told me that they could find nothing wrong with Charles. “Perhaps he had had a virus”. They actually sneered when I suggested that they read the Mexican cardiologist’s expertly composed report. “A Mexican doctor?” They never deigned to read what symptoms Charles had exhibited in Mexico.

That week was Spring break, and Claire was not teaching. She called to say she was concerned about me, and was coming to Florida because I was alone. One of the many strange things in my life happened then. From the time I stepped off the plane from Mexico I felt a presence with me. It was a feeling of having a warm robe or blanket wrapped around me… . sort of a protective cloak. I absolutely was not alone. (I recently read a similar of someone who had a comparable experience.) I was warm, comfortable, loved, and cared for. I didn’t know where this love was coming from, but it was absolute.

I dissuaded Claire from spending money on air fare. I convinced her that weird as it sounded I really wasn’t alone or needy. I was fine… and energized in my battle with the idiots who called themselves doctors. She realized that I sounded OK, and as I spoke to her each night, she stopped worrying. I don’t think she understood but was accustomed to the fact that I am “different”.

My “vibes” were validated when, to get rid of me, Charles was transferred to another, (better), hospital down the road. There they discovered his problem almost immediately. He had an irregular heartbeat necessitating the implant of a pacemaker and a defibrillator.

Once again when I’m fortunate to have been given a message I believe I’m meant to do something about it.

* * *

When the printed instructions included with all your prescriptions caution you of various side effects, they usually mention that they may apply to only one percent of the population. Meet the one percent. I have been in the hospital twice this past year as I am “lucky”enough to be the one percent affected by some medications.

This last time, Mikki wasn’t disappointed. We were on another Caribbean cruise. Maybe the LAST one. We left the boat to go on a day trip. I began feeling “off”; dizzy, weak, and just odd. I was put in a wheel chair to get back onto the ship and taken to the ship’s hospital, barely conscious. From a distance I heard the doctor tell Charles that he had difficulty getting my pulse, this was serious and that I “could die.”

Just at that moment, I saw a beautiful flower. I believe it was a lotus. The colors were intense… yellow and orange. It was back-lighted by a white silvery light. From this flower arose a sweet unearthly feeling of peace, and an invitation. There was no feeling of being pulled, simply invited. It was incredibly lovely like nothing I had ever seen. I felt very mellow and willing to go to the lotus.

First I needed to hear my children’s voices. I murmured to Charles to call their cell phones. I wanted to hear their voice messages. He did that while holding the phone to my ear. I heard them and was satisfied although I could feel Charles silently urging me not to leave. Then a funny thing happened… I mean hilarious. A voice clearly said to me “Idiot, you didn’t finish your book.” (THIS BOOK).

Inside myself I began to giggle and couldn’t stop. THIS WAS FUNNY. But then the lotus slowly began to change; the petals closed, the light faded, and it was gone. I was taken to a waiting ambulance to the intensive care unit in the hospital in St. Thomas, US Virgin Islands.

I told Mikki about this bizarre experience when I returned home. She asked who would talk to me like that? My father? Of course! He was always scolding and yelling at me to complete what I had begun. I had a habit all my life of starting things and not finishing them.

42

A few years back about five AM one morning at The Lake I had had a rather “different “dream. When dreams are prophetic they have an ethereal quality to them unlike a “regular’ one. In this dream I saw several of my mother’s cousins dancing. After a short while I realized all of these relatives had ed, some, quite a few years ago. They were celebrating the fact that one of their loved ones was coming to be with them. I was spooked. I made myself wake up… hurried to the bathroom then back to bed. BUT after a short moment I was back in the dream. More information was coming to me. I saw a newly dug grave, the cousins circling the grave and obviously happy. Looking down at this scene, (it appeared to be below me), I noticed a very old headstone next to the open grave. It was my Grandmother Lily’s!

I finally fell into a less troubled sleep. Later that morning I called my kids. “Don’t go anywhere today, please. Someone in Nanny’s direct line (my mothers) is going to die. Stay home.” I implored.

“Mom you’re nuts,” were the unanimous replies. “I have to go to school/work… can’t stay home.”

“Then be extra careful because I don’t know who it is,”I onished.

We left The Lake for New Jersey later that day. The phone was ringing when we opened the door. My mother said, “I have sad news .”

“WHO?” I held my breath.

“Uncle Yank died today. The funeral is tomorrow. Can you call your cousin, find out the details and go?” She explained that her uncle, Lily’s baby brother, had been ill for some time.

I was SO relieved. I loved this uncle but he was in his eighties and ill. At least it wasn’t someone young and full of life. (My mother was a pragmatist. If she couldn’t see it or find it with one of her five senses it didn’t exist. If I had told her that I had known someone was about to die… she would have laughed.) Most of the older of our side of family were in Florida. It fell to me to represent all of us at the funeral.

The event took place in North Jersey, in Bergen County, not too far from where my cousin, his daughter, lived. After the service, at the start of the traditional Shiva I asked my cousin if she knew what time her father had ed. Her answer, “About five this morning.”

Back home, I dutifully called my mother to report on the day. Her first question to me was, “Where was Uncle Yank buried?”

“In a cemetery in north Jersey, near his daughter.”

She was quite upset. “Oh NO. He’s supposed to be right next to Mama.”

All the hairs on my arms and back of my neck stood up. THAT’S WHAT I HAD SEEN.

* * *

What can all this mean? I believe it tells us that there is an eternal soul that lives on someplace after the body is “used up”. There are many authors who have said this more professionally than I can, but this is their profession, their calling. I did see our cousins. They did show me the grave where my great-uncle was supposed to lie. I unquestionably was given this information.

If our souls are eternal and do not perish with our bodies… that brings up the next logical thought. Do they come back in another time in another body? Reincarnation? I mentioned that I read the teachings of Buddha. Many cultures believe there is no death just a age from one plane to another. I believe this.

I had a reading with a psychic years ago, my first. This was my initial experience with a past lives reading. I thought it was to be a “regular” reading. She knew nothing at all about me not even my name but as she held my hand she told me she “saw” details of three of my past lives. In brief, in one I befriended and helped to teach a deaf child, in another, I was a healer on a farm where people came to me to be relieved of pain, in the third she said I helped a doctor care for “crippled” children.

This was remarkable. My graduate studies, (in my present life), were in teaching deaf and hard of hearing children. I am able to pull or borrow energy from the Healing Universe, warm my fingers, and relieve pain as we were taught in training for Hospice. I volunteered for eight years as a Girl Scout leader in a Cerebral Palsy Center. It truly does make one wonder. As I said, she knew NOTHING about me before I sat in her chair. My soul seems to have wandered around doing good works. Wow! Good Karma.

43

When I was in the hospital, so determined to live I never gave a thought to the future of my body. My soul seems to be doing fine, my mind has always been a bit “different”. Now I need to think about this body.

I endured about twelve or fourteen operations along the way, happy to have survived them all, and determined to live though each one. By the late spring of 1989 I was walking my two miles again in most good-weather days, and proud of it. I had few aches and pains… some occasional problems with my right wrist which was much better after the second round of surgery that removed the metal pressing on it. Even though I had been told by the surgeon that I would never be able to wave or turn a door knob, I have been doing these things all these years. I have, however, been able to forecast weather by arm. The metal in the body expands and contracts with extreme barometric changes. It’s not as noticeable as when I first had the operations because the body covers the foreign parts, over time, with tissue. I had little or no problem with all the repairs,went to a spa, exercised, and drove several miles a day to my new part-time job. I was feeling well and going on with my new life including dating and even dancing. During that first year I still had a large hole in my right leg in the area of my shin. I hadn’t wanted another skin graft. Using my newly discovered healing techniques I was able to close the silver-dollar-sized gap. It took me a year.

As the years ed my left ankle begun to change shape and color. I went back to Albany to see Dr. Dolph. The diagnosis was; under the skin graft the circulatory and lymphatic systems were beginning to break down. He sent me to a circulatory specialist who advised me to wear elastic surgical stockings to slow the process of degeneration. They are not sexy or attractive. Years later, although the ankle is swollen and painful to the touch, and dreadful to look at, the foot IS still attached.

* * *

There are many accommodations to be made these days. The long lovely walks are no longer possible. Years ago the First Aid Squad thought my back was broken; it had been badly injured. The ing of time has caused further deterioration of my entire spine. The various treatments have proved fruitless. The pain specialist that had treated me in vain told me, “With that spine you’re not going to walk.” (Whose spine should I borrow?)

Some of the nicest doctors have escorted me out of their offices. They will not treat me. I have allergies that preclude successful spinal surgery. Recently I made an appointment for a consult with a neuro-surgeon who performs micro-surgery. I have hopes that one day I may be pain free. (I never understood that my body would have these problems in later years). My acupuncturist said the only body she ever treated in as bad a condition as mine is a wounded combat veteran!

44

My husband, Charles, says he married me “for better or for nurse”. There’s always a part to be x-rayed or placed in an MRI tube. I know I’m blessed with a loving husband, children, and six grandkids that I adore, however, I hope that one day I might have less pain. My various infirmities all stem from The Accident. They aren’t life-threatening, but are life-limiting. I almost feel ungrateful complaining about anything. I am alive with a great life.

He is a great care-giver. Charles is a nurturing human. Strange though it is noone has taken care of me since I was nine years old. That’s the year my mother went became a working mom, and I became a “latch-key” kid.(One that has a door key on a string around her neck.) It was incredibly difficult for me to allow myself to be cared for. I had forgotten how to give up that part of my ego.

45

We had put a deposit on a home in the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia. Audrey and Gerry had moved to that area, and it’s beautiful country. On the way home we stopped to visit Bobbie and Roy Kern. They had moved from Edison to this adult community in Lakewood, New Jersey. We liked what we saw, made the arrangements, sold our condo in Scotch Plains, and moved here.

It was an excellent decision. We love our lives here. At a certain time of life you don’t expect to make new close friends, but we did. We have what I call the “round-up of usual suspects” . . . the close group who we can count on always. This is good.

We were both was tested again about a year after we moved here when an injury to my right knee made surgery inevitable. I had a knee replacement in what I had believed was “the best” hospital, Saint Barnabas in Livingston, New Jersey. I chose that hospital after much research. The surgeon was Chief of Orthopedics at the time. What a mess he made.

The complications included infections, blood clots, and anaphylaxis. Poor Charles.

I spend a lot of time with homeopathic practitioners: my chiropractor, my acupuncturist, and my dear friend, Bob, my hypno-therapist, all help to keep me together. I was doing fine until I had therapy for my recent knee surgery. That reinjured my back and I’m in pain once again. Pain causes wrinkles. I don’t like wrinkles.

I know that I’m incredibly blessed in more ways than I can count even on a miserable day. My problems, at least at this moment in the now, are mostly in my skeletal system from The Accident. Aside from my asthma and allergies which give me occasional grief, I’m in pretty good shape and about the luckiest living human on the planet.

NOW

46

When I married Charles I didn’t realize what a nurturing human he is. No-one has taken care of me since I was nine years old and my mother became one of the only working moms I had ever heard of. It was difficult for me to accept being cared for. As one of my grandsons used to say when he was a toddler,”I tan do it mine ownself.”

I was accustomed to caring for myself from an early age, then caring for my younger brother. Charles used to complain that I “was too damn independent” and wouldn’t allow him to care for me.

Fortunately I have a friend here in our retirement complex, who is a talented hypno-therapist. He helps me with pain control and relaxation. One day in the midst of a deep trance I was startled to “see” the top of my head open and a band of incredible silver-white light stream from my head straight up to the heavens! I was bemused. It was very odd. When I came out of the hypnotic state I told Bob about this strange experience. He said he had never heard of anything like it before. He later discussed it with colleagues and they had never encountered this phenomenon either. No-one had until I explained all this to my daughter, Ronni, thinking correctly that if anyone would know what this was, she would. She’s a spiritual young woman and has attended many seminars and classes. She was excited. She said it was WONDERFUL. She told me that this was the “thousand lotus experience” and that Buddhist monks spend lifetimes meditating in order to have that experience! She exclaimed that only the highest and most spiritual souls get to have that direct connection to the Power. I was amazed. I had no idea I was so impressive. I had always thought that one reached for the light bringing it down to oneself as I do for healing. She said that’s also correct, But apparently what I experienced that one time was a special connection to The Source. That was the first time I had heard of the lotus other than the lotus position in Yoga which I cannot do due to the uncertain condition of my limbs.

Knowing that I had an interest in past lives Bob introduced me to a colleague of his who has special training in that field. I went to his office, settled into a comfortable chair, and allowed him to hypnotize me. I found myself in a wooded area. The hypnotist asked me what I had on my feet. I replied that they were “soft, you know, for your feet”. I described the woods, a small stone circle used for cooking, a larger one for meetings. He asked me to spell my name. I was puzzled. I didn’t know the meaning of spell. He wanted to know what language I spoke. I answered, “the People’s language.” I also had no idea of what he meant by what year it was.

During this time I kept asking him if this was real as I suddenly recognized where I was! I was at the Lake at a spot I’ve been many times… Commission Point!

We discussed my marriage and whether or not I recognized anyone from my present life… I did… my son, as my young brother, and my daughter Ronni, as my sister. I told him that the men often left to go south on the lake to hunt and fish.

The hypnotist wanted to know if I had a special “job” in the tribe. “Yes” I said, “I’m a helper.” The conversation continued.

“What does that mean?”

“I help people who have pains and sickness.”

“ Then you are a healer?”

“NO, NO , only a man is a healer. A woman is a helper.”

“How do you do it?”

“It’s easy, I touch them with my fingers, (tapping on the arm of the chair), repeating, “with my fingers.”

(After the session, the hypnotist told me that at this point he took my hand, my fingers were HOT).

He asked me to see myself as an old woman then to see my death. THIS was fascinating. I’m aware that in many past lives studies people recall violent deaths, however, in this one I died peacefully as a very old woman. I saw myself resting under a tree, family and people around me, some crying. He wanted to know if I was sad, I replied that I wasn’t sad, but others were.

Then… . came the MOST amazing experience of this life. I have never since been afraid of leaving life since that day. There is nothing to fear. I found myself floating in grayness… . no light.no dark… just grayness. I felt incredible unearthly peace. There is nothing on this plane to equal it. All was peace and beauty. I didn’t want to leave. He had difficulty bringing me back.

* * *

Of course, my curiosity was piqued. I did some research after I returned home. I had thought I had known almost everything about the history of The Lake. I was wrong; the Appalachian tribes inhabited the area in the early 1500’s. They did not have a written language until the Adirondacks arrived in the 1600’s. (I couldn’t spell my name). The men alone were called healers, a more exalted title than helper. All of this I discovered when I researched after the session. All I had said about my life in the regression was apparently accurate.

The repetition of the themes of healer, helper, and working with “damaged” children throughout past lives into the present interests me. Is this something my soul decided was my eternal job? I might get an answer from my Spirit Guide if I could it. But I don’t meditate often or deeply enough to find it. I’m told that I can communicate with the Spirit Guide through deep meditation. I am interested in trying this.

47

As I said before, we were fortunate to have made wonderful friends. I became close to Joyce, a woman who, like me, is interested in the spiritual. Together we attended a four day workshop of a group called “Women Gathering” . This is a women’s group of varied practices including Wicca, guided meditations, chanting, drumming and classes in areas concerning women in their many stages. Other than my Hospice training this was one of the most intense experiences of my life. Opening my inner self so completely and learning more about who I was and who I could be… . incredible.

Our classes began in early morning. In each class I absorbed energy of the group and the teacher. At the end of day three I was almost alight with this energy. I had set my alarm that last, fourth morning, but Joyce had awakened me. My alarm hadn’t gone off. Indeed, my clock had stopped. My watch had stopped. The watch of the woman next to me had stopped. This is all true. I had absorbed too much energy and it was spilling out all over.

After breakfast and closing ceremonies I sought the spiritual advisor and told her of my problem. She advised me to give the energy back to the earth by getting on the earth. Busy as we were with packing and saying goodbye, I didn’t get a chance to follow her advice. Just as we were going to my car I turned and onished Joyce to be careful walking on the rough terrain. (She had recently broken both hands.) My next step was into a small hole and I went down hard. The earth surely received my energy!

I had fallen with my left arm outstretched and knew immediately that my wrist was broken. People came running to help. All I asked for was some Tylenol and an ace bandage for the five hour ride home. Joyce wasn’t going to drive an unfamiliar car for that distance. It was my job. The next day, after x-rays and a

doctor’s visit, it was determined that both my wrist and elbow were fractured. I had thought I was never going to have any more broken bones.

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About ten years ago I was approached by an acquaintance who was recently bereaved. She wanted help starting a bereavement group here in our community. I found an on-line site, ordered materials, and relying on my training and her enthusiasm we formed a wonderful haven for our neighbors who had lost their mates.

We met in my home as it was cozier and more private than the clubhouse. We shared energy in our circle. This group of people was remarkable in many ways; they gave each other strength, coping skills, wept together, laughed together and bonded. As one woman said, “I never had so many friends before I came to this group.”

The have gone out socially together and had lunch a regular basis. They feel free to call for when one is having a “trigger” day, i.e. a birthday, anniversary, or some other event that is difficult to endure alone. An unexpected outgrowth of these widowed people getting together every week was the blending of five new couples. (I didn’t expect to be a dating service.)

This group is ongoing and is a focus of my life. We have many diverse and fascinating discussions in our healing circle. There might be eight to twenty people depending upon the number in the group that week. As we live in a retirement community there are residents who are now reaching their seventies and eighties, and a few are older. Mortality rates begin to climb, and I’m never short of new .

Several times the discussions turn to the spiritual. For a long time I attempted to

avoid this as I didn’t want to “impose” my beliefs on this group. However, the subject continued to arise. I heard, “I saw my husband at the breakfast table when I came into the kitchen.” Conversations such as this prompted me to explain about beliefs other than those of Western society. We have discussed the idea of parallel universes, the immortal soul, reincarnation, and ideas that I had been reluctant to debate with my original groups. I had been unwilling to “propagandize” at all. However, now I exhort my people to open their minds to all possibilities, even those that seem implausible. I remind them too often of my “hero”, Galileo, who understood many things that the then current scientific and religious communities considered heresy. I tell them to think that three hundred years hence the things that we speak of now may be common knowledge as they are probably in the realm of physics.

In a recent book by Eben Alexander, a neuro-surgeon/brain surgeon, entitled “Promise of Heaven”, he tells of his near death experiences while in a coma. He wrote this as a scientist so that he might convince his peers that these experiences are NOT hallucinations of a dying brain, but very real. Most people who have had these near death experiences (NDE’s) have seen and felt much of what he describes. I know I did.

I truly believe that allowing the group to think of the possibility of peace after the death of the body helps the grieving process. Some people will accept these ideas, others not.

Every year I try to have an open house for all of the “graduates” and current .There were thirty-four here last spring, fifteen could not attend. The warm glow from our home probably could be seen from outer space. It was a loving, sweet, gratifying, evening. I was thanked many times. I felt compelled to explain to each person that I am not the one who accomplished the changes in their lives.. They did the grief work… . and it is work. I brought them together, facilitated the group and when it was needed kept them on track. They’re the ones who did their own healing. I know this. I’ve been there. I’m continuing with this group. Every time I consider taking a leave of absence there are new

people who are needy. We are in our tenth year. Two more people just “graduated” and received their diplomas. One of the women called me “an instrument of God”, I don’t usually “do the God thing”. I told her I did like the term “instrument”, though. I am the instrument that brings them together to work through their grief. Perhaps this is also my “give back mission” in addition to the Hospice work I’ve done. Everyone who has been brought back from near death, as I have been twice, knows instinctively that one MUST give back. It seems to be a law of the Great Universe. It’s up to each individual to find his own personal job.

* * *

Our lives here at the adult community have been busy. Charles had hoped to teach me to play golf, but the delicate condition of my right arm precluded that. He had the same desire for a tennis game with me, but that was never to be. I’m not complaining about the things I can’t do as there are a myriad of things I can do, however, the original parts worked better than the rebuilt ones.

I get great joy from writing for our little newspaper. (We have thirteen hundred homes that receive it.) I used to report on some of our functions, but now I write my column, “The Way We Were”, which is a mix of nostalgia and facts. I get amazing positive from this little monthly page.

* * *

We’ve been on several cruises to make up for recently selling all of our time shares. It was becoming too expensive to keep up with the maintenance and airfares. I’ve certainly learned that life has phases and try not to be sad when I must leave one chapter behind. I have the memories. In order that these memories won’t be forever lost, I share them in my weekly letters to my

“Loveables”, i.e.my six grandchildren.

This marriage has been, as all others are, mixed with fun, and not fun. The negative times mostly involved health issues although we have had our “moments” as I still have a temper. Getting to be almost eighty-three years old has mellowed me just a little.

I advise my Bereavement Group and my grandkids always to the blessings. I attempt to take this advice each and every day. For the first time in my life I can feel some inner peace. I’m still working on it.

As a high school senior, I was asked to put my special wish under my name and picture in the yearbook, as we all were. My seventeen year-old self wanted nothing less than “perfect happiness”. Why not? At seventeen it may have appeared to be an attainable goal. At this stage I’ll try to find contentment, some true inner peace, and less of a temper. Maybe I’ll begin to mellow someday.

Last year I became a “Pen Pal for a child in the Lakewood school system. This has been fun. I attended the year-end party and met her face-to-face. Hopefully, I’ll be corresponding with her again this year.

The Children

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It’s difficult to measure the true extent of the trauma of the accident on my family and myself. Claire and John had financial problems immediately. John had long urged Claire to try to find another “line” of furniture to represent in addition to her father’s, however, she never did. No-one anticipated that Jules would have neglected to provide her, or me, with the promised pensions. He spent the money instead. The factory whose business he helped to build fired her two short days after The Accident. They had the temerity to tell her that they didn’t owe Jules Whitman anything. They didn’t have one woman working for them in a sales position. In our present climate she would have a huge discrimination suit against them. However, twenty-four years ago, they laughed at her when she brought suit. They settled with a pittance. She accepted, knowing that a small amount was all she would get.

They’ve struggled for many years, through some unusual circumstances they lost their home. Presently they’re renting Charles’ house in the town they’ve lived for many years. Claire is teaching, John was working in New York although his workplace has just closed its doors.

Ari has had some problems growing up. Whether he would have had the same difficulties if there had been no cataclysm, who can know? As a pre-schooler, he had separation anxiety after The Accident. He would dislike losing sight of his mother, and had wanted her to stay in class with him. When I had showed him the school he would go to in kindergarten, he asked, “Can mommies go there too?”

I assured him he would be a big boy and wouldn’t want his mom there. He solemnly assured me, “I will cry.” And he did.

We all assumed that he would have a Bar Mitzvah..As part of the ceremony, I went to the Bima, (the stage), and presented him with his Grampy’s Tallis, (prayer shawl), the one that Jules had worn for his Bar Mitzvah. He is now thirty years old and lives at home. He has been working for the township near where they reside and is doing well, has many friends, plays and parties hearty. He has a happy, productive life. We are close. I can and do occasionally call on him for help and he comes as soon as possible.

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Ronni has had some unusual psychic experiences. Earlier I mentioned some events that occurred in the Albany house when they were remodeling. She told me that as she was leaving the lake house, closing the door for the final time for me, the lights all went on. She went back inside, spoke to her father, said, “Daddy, stop that, you’re freaking me out”.

The lights went out for a moment, then flashed on and off, as though in acknowledgment, and she left.

* * *

As soon as I no longer needed her, she decided to leave Albany. As I mentioned, her job in Nashville was gone, and she had applied for, and been accepted to, a position in a women’s college in Raleigh, North Carolina. She briefly stayed in an apartment, subsequently bought a house. Benjamin’s adjustment was a difficult one.

He had tantrums, he acted out. She took him to several psychologists, but was unable to carry out the recommended “tough love”. She didn’t have the inner strength. He was stronger than she was. She caved.

Oddly enough, he didn’t believe he was a child. Many times he insisted he “was a grownup” therefore didn’t have to listen to what he was told. One day I stood with him before a full length mirror and asked him which one of us was big, which one was small. He grudgingly acknowledged that he was small, but

seemed puzzled by it. I think the only possible explanation was that he ed something of his last life.

One weekend, as we were leaving The Lake to return to New Jersey, Ronni called to say that the nanny had left abruptly. We went to Albany and scooped him up, took him home. As we entered the kitchen, he looked at our floor, and said, “Well Grammie, I see you have octagons on your kitchen floor.” He was fifteen months old.

I replied, Benjamin, “They’re hexagons. They have six sides.octagons have eight.” He was nonplussed.

THIS was the child Ronni attempted to integrate into a southern society, a pre school, and a Sunday School.

She socializes easily with women, makes friends instantly. Therein lies the problem: she believes everyone is her good friend because that’s how she is. She tends to confide in her “friends” too soon. In a short while she met a tall, handsome, very southern man. Ronni is an extremely pretty woman. She decided much too soon to marry. That marriage lasted too long. She trusted him too much. It seems that he was unfaithful many times, and none of her friends had the courage to tell her this.

They purchased a resort together, but somehow he “forgot” to put her name on the deed. She eventually separated from him, moved to California and began divorce proceedings. It was an acrimonious divorce, but eventually she found an attorney who was able to achieve justice for her. She is presently married to a lovely man who I’m proud to call son-in law, even son.

Benjamin has fought many demons for most of his life. He is bi-polar and allegedly on medication. “He is incredibly brilliant, and talented, and recently received his diploma from a four year college… . a great achievement and a testament to both his and Ronni’s fortitude.

As I mentioned earlier, when Miriam was in pre-school her teachers were upset by her “killing” her small Fisher-Price people. She called them her “peoples”. She would line them up on her table, knock them to the floor, and shout ,”You’re dead!” When asked about her reasons for doing this, she told them that they hit their heads and that meant they were dead like her Grampy was. She was two and one half years old and doing her own play therapy! The faculty was less than pleased about her preoccupation with death. Claire explained the reason for this, and hoped it would . After a while it did.

She is a lovely young woman of twenty-seven, recently married, and happily living (too far away) near Chicago.

All four of the children suffered from this tragedy, even the ones who were too young to the events. Claire and Ronni were devastated and grieving, busy caring for me. My little ones were often moved around to Albany, Metuchen, NJ and the Lake, left with various sitters.

Noah, The youngest, probably fared the best. Although almost impossible to “potty” train as a toddler, (he was actually changing his own diapers), he was a normal, if irrepressible, little boy. He’s an excellent athlete. He transformed Claire into a “soccer mom”, traveling all over the east coast. He was a scholarathlete in college and ran the Iron Man triathlon, training himself!

He is studying to take a doctorate in physical therapy. Since his experience with the Iron Man triathlon, he realizes the important role of the therapist in helping

extreme athletes who participate in marathons. He’s doing quite well in school as I write this. We speak often enough to make me “kvell”. (A Yiddish term meaning something like “fill with pride and happiness”.) Unfortunately, he’s currently living in Minneapolis, with his long-time girlfriend, Rachel. That’s too far away!

* * *

My children:

I’ve always been proud of my three children. Each of them had spent time helping others in some way before the Accident. Claire had ed the “Mitzvah Corps” when she was sixteen. This was a group formed by our Temple, made up of the teens in the youth group. Back in the terrible summer of the ‘70’s riots they lived and worked in the inner city of New Brunswick, NJ. Claire, a diminutive five feet tall, was assigned to reorganize the playgrounds. The denizens of the playgrounds were mostly tall, African-American boys. She “whipped them into shape” and organized everything ‘way before the summer’s end. When her tour was over, a letter came to her saying that her smile would be missed all over the city!

Ronni, was barely twenty when, having graduated both high school and college in three years, was bored; auditioning, but not being chosen for any roles in theater in New York, applied to, and was accepted by the Peace Corps. She was assigned to the Domestic Peace Corps in the US Virgin Island of St. Croix to teach dance and drama. She was an inspiration to at least two of her male friends, who followed her example into the Peace Corps.

Lloyd worked at our local hospital for about one and a half years, I believe. At first, he worked in the laboratory, in the microbiology department. Then,

whenever possible, one of my friends, or some physician he had become friendly with, allowed him to “gown up” and sneak into the operating room. He would regale us of stories of the wonder of the human body all through our dinners on those evenings! (He had always wanted to be a doctor. He always had wanted medical school and had double majored at Brown University in “pre-med” and physics. However, he changed his mind after his father’s second stroke, following his third heart attack, saying that medicine was imprecise and NOT a science!)

52

When I discuss my post-traumatic stress syndrome with the kids, mostly with my daughters for some reason, they tell me that they also have that experience. As I have said, Claire’s loss was probably the most extreme as she saw her father daily and also lost her job and income. Her life was never the same. Ronni and Lloyd had the unpleasant task of taking our personal belongings from the (probably) bloody and smashed up boat. I can’t even begin to visualize that… and don’t want to attempt to. They seemed to have been able to move on through their grief and build new lives.

Lloyd has built a successful life as a physicist in the Washington area. After achieving his post doctorate degree, he worked at the Naval Research Laboratory. When I understood that he would be doing research for the military I “freaked”. I made him give me a solemn promise that he’d NEVER work on anything that would bring harm to humans. He did promise. He went on to earn the Navy Meritorious Civilian Service Award, the highest honor the navy can bestow upon a civilian, akin to their Medal of Honor! He is now involved in nano-science and is Associate Director of the Center for Nano –Scale Research and Technology located in Maryland. He can be “Googled” .

Lloyd just returned from Moscow where he was part of a Presidential Initiative between our president and Mr. Putin, President of Russia. He conferred with Russian scientists about nano-science, his area of expertise.

Susan is Deputy Assistant General Counsel at the US office of Personnel Management. She is a respected lawyer for the government, working on the new health plan, if I understand this correctly. I know she has successfully tried cases in a few states. She is an active force in their Temple now that the children are grown and she has time for some of her own pursuits.

My Virginia grandkids are sometimes an enigma to me as I had not had the same opportunity to know them well while they were growing up as I did with my “first four”. I did the best I could, but I missed too many of their piano recitals and other wonderful landmarks of their lives. We have as close a relationship as we’ve been able to manage, i.e.”pretty close”. Julian, obviously named for his grandfather, has a direct line to my father’s DNA! He’s a fine pianist, (as well as a clarinetist), and a budding scientist. At nineteen years old, he is presently studying engineering and robotics at Cornell University. Alana Jesse, partly named for my dad, is also scientifically talented. She recently received early acceptance to Brown University. The past two summers she has studied with a professor of psychology and plans to major in neuro-psychology. She’s seventeen. I don’t believe, as Lloyd had said, that his father would never know his children. It’s with tears in my eyes that I write this… I DO believe that he knows your children, Lloyd. I truly do. I almost know this. (I also know that Lloyd isn’t “a believer”)

IN CONCLUSION

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All is Yin and Yang. There is a duality in our infinite Universe. There are two sides to everything; good and evil, up and down, happiness and sadness, male and female, etcetera. As my people in the bereavement group understand, each coin has two sides. In their case one side is total freedom, the other, terrible loneliness. So I have found it to be.

Through my life I have attempted to be aware of my blessings and that nothing stays the same. When things look bad, they will change… . eventually.

Many times my life has appeared to be BAD. Much of this I’ve spoken of earlier. Our attorney and “friend” made my life more difficult than necessary due to lack of due diligence regarding the boat ownership and again when I sold the Lake house. There was a “glitch” in the sale and I discovered, to my chagrin, that I didn’t have title insurance! This resulted in the loss of many thousands of dollars that I could ill afford.

Jules had canceled most of his life insurance, spent the rest, and somehow did away with all of our pension monies… . and so on. There’s nothing more to be said about these financial disasters. They just ARE. Poor Charles didn’t get any bargain!

BUT… I am healthy, albeit in pain now and unable to take my treasured walks. I did get my wish to live to “see my babies grow up”. I am blessed with caring children and grandchildren as well as wonderful friends. Mikki and Stan Machlin remain in close touch to this minute. Without Mikki my world would

have no color and less meaning. Audrey and Gerry are not in my life as much as I would love them to be. I wish we lived closer, but distance hasn’t made a difference in our feelings.

I have learned MUCH. Whether this learning would have occurred if there had been no cataclysm… somehow I doubt it. On the other hand, I always knew that there was something odd about time. As a child I was intrigued by my father’s ability to “see” ahead. He was precognitive. He saw important events, world events, before they occurred. I used to be intrigued by this and wonder… if he could “see” it… . then it was already there. But it hadn’t happened as yet. To my young mind it meant that there was no straight time line, but a circle. How do we figure time and space? Become Einstein! (It makes me wonder about the common occurrence of deja’ vu. Perhaps we actually DID experience a particular event before!)

There was an interesting little dialogue in a cartoon I saw: “You see, time is just an illusion, the past and the present don’t exist, so the time is the same as it will always be… . this moment. So now tell me, what’s the real time?”

* * *

The things that Dr. Eben Alexander saw while having his out-of body-experience are similar to those that many others have seen and felt during a NDE. I learned that there is a Universal Mind and that we are all connected to each other. I found that I could connect to that Mind. This has been amazing to me. I’ve felt that connection many more times, especially under hypnosis.

The psychic experience of “knowing” is part of my daily life. I’d be lost without it, but I am more “connected” since the Accident, more in tune.

Working with Hospice and the bereavement groups have given me an appreciation of the human spirit, as separate from the body that clothes it. I’ve heard people tell me of “seeing” their departed loved one sitting at the table, or lying next to them in their bed. I believe this. Many people have experienced this.

I was at the wake of a friend’s daughter and absolutely saw her spirit shimmering around her coffin. I didn’t know this young woman and was there at of respect and affection for my friend. Her daughter was there, outside of her discarded body.

Memory

My mind, ambivalent, holds pincer-like

To the memory it wants to forget

Like a carnivore with a bone

Unwilling to release its hold.

It struggles to be free of the horrible and the poignant

Waiting in vain for a clean slate.

Then and Now, in a tight embrace mocking me

Arrogantly claiming

We Are One.

Lollie W. Margolin

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Death and Dying:

I have often wondered whether all the clergy who speak at funerals really believe what they say, or are they trained to tell the mourners, “Now your loved one is at peace”?

A question; Do they really know or believe this? I know. I’ve been there, as have many others who have had a near death experience, a hypnotic regression, or extremely deep meditations. There are no words adequate to describe the peace and beauty that waits for us when we shed the body we wear. It is a place of magnificent radiance and unearthly peace. Why would anyone want to come back? I know I didn’t.

When I experienced hypnotic regression, I certainly had a glimpse of another life that I had once been part of. I’ve been told by at least three other psychics that I had been a healer in some capacity in other lives.

It is said by many psychics and mediums that we make several decisions before we’re born. We occassionally make a “contract” concerning our new lives-to-be. This “contract” includes the mother to whom we will be born, what we will accomplish in the new life, how we will move to a higher plane, and when we will return to the life of the soul, i.e. the end of our earthly life. This certainly sounds difficult to believe, but how often have you heard, “His/her time wasn’t up yet?” Perhaps we have some memory of our contract. When I was saved, put back together, perhaps that was an indication that whatever time I wrote in my contract had not yet arrived.

Regarding this concept; at a Jewish Orthodox funeral for a young woman some time ago, I listened in surprise as the Rabbi spoke of his belief that the young woman had fulfilled her contract here on earth and her soul was home with God!

Several authors have written of these beliefs and experiences. Among them are Edgar Caycey, Gary Zukav, Sylvia Browne, and Allyson DuBois, among others.

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Rebirth:

While in the hospital I had many life-changing experiences, as told here in this memoir. I found that I could heal by visualizing, focus, and “see” my little “doozer” go to work. I suddenly understood the reason for prayer, as an affirmation of the Power of One Mind of the healing universe, and discovered that we are all part of the One. I was able to reach out and pull some of the energy of the Great Spirit into my body, and with the help of my astounding Angel, heal my broken, infected body. I am not underestimating the talented and dedicated medical people who worked very hard to put me back together. In the wise words of my grandson, Ari, if you recall, he said, “You’re really lucky Grammie, they couldn’t do a thing for Humpty Dumpty!”

Understanding that the brain is a formidable organ helped me to do things that the medical establishment considered impossible, i.e. flex my foot by restoring a thread of muscle tissue, restoring feeling to torn and crushed nerves in my wrist so that I could turn a door knob and wave, grow six or more inches of bone in my arm although that took me about a year, close a deep puncture wound in my right leg without surgery… that also took a year..and more. This was all accomplished by meditation and visualization, and focus, focus, focus, while being in touch with what’s “out there” and bringing it into my body.. If I can do it, anyone can. The ability to trance deeply enough to avoid pain is another selftaught skill I discovered in the hospital. As I explained, it “freaks out” most doctors. I have learned to warn them before I “leave” when I’m about to have any painful procedure.

I was constantly reading about others who had gone through similar cataclysms.

They often spoke about spiritual experiences, especially those people who had been near death. Many realized that they had karmic obligations to “give back” for the gift of rebirth.

Rebirth is a great and wonderful thing. I treasure being born again without having had to go through reincarnation at this time. This new life has been rich in blessings and love. (Thank you Charles), I never expected to have a smooth road, especially with the financial situation which makes me think, “We’re not in Kansas anymore, are we Toto? “ New life, new world to navigate. I can do it because I must.

My bereavement group gives my life a purpose. They keep thanking me for helping them, when in fact the reverse is true! The group is important to me. I keep up with the literature in the field and watch the newspaper for pertinent articles.

I read and re-read books that inspire me, authors that I mentioned herein, especially Buddhist philosophy. It just makes sense.

I have a plethora of pictures around my house as almost all of my kids and” loveables” (my grandkids), live a distance away. I can look at them any time. I don’t have to tell them, “I miss your face.” (Words once written on a postcard from camp by seven year old Lloyd.)

For all these blessings and for the gift of life and rebirth,

THANK YOU GREAT SPIRIT

Lollie Whitman-Margolin

February 2013