Keeping the Dream

It is morning. My child is still asleep on this quiet morning. I am thinking of my friend who lies in the hospital.

Six weeks ago, I discovered the passing away of one dear friend. Today I face the task of going into the hospital to tell another dear friend, one whom I have known for over half my life, with whom I had my first two children, his options. I spoke with his oncologist Friday. They are not what he wants.

Nor I. Nor the ones who love him.

And I don’t quite know how to feel at this time. My thoughts are so focused on how he feels, and how I can be there for him.

I did weep after leaving the doctor’s office. Actually, it started in his office. But as I found myself driving down strange streets in a fog, I knew where I had to go. I went straight to our local health store to get some ideas of how to take care of him should he come home for hospice.

They may send him home to die, but I and his family will welcome him home to live and receive whatever gifts each present moment gives to us.

We don’t know everything.

But though I don’t judge everything by what I see, I do not deny everything I see either. And what I see now weighs upon my heart with a sadness. His hands were so cold as I held them last night. I am not blind to that spectre that hangs before us.

Even still, I hold open a space for that which may confound me and everyone else.

He deserves that. I will not withhold hope under the pretense of protecting my own heart from disappointment. Nothing will spare this heart from splitting in two when he leaves. So I will not hold back anything I can offer now.

I don’t know what he will do, but I do know what I will do. I will be there for him no matter what. I will be there.

Happy Mother’s Day to every mother and every person who has ever given birth to anything – whether it be a living, breathing person or a dream that insists on a life of its own.

Yesterday I learned of a dear friend’s passing away. My heart was filled with sadness all day, but tonight, it’s anger that wakes me up.

This is a man I had met in the early 90’s. He gave me assistance and friendship. He never asked anything of me. He was never anything less than a gentleman and a true friend.

I met Rod Smith at a business where I used to pick up work for data entry. I was a single mom, my two oldest were young kids, and I was homeschooling them. I often brought them in with me. Sometimes he’d be in the office working on their computer system. We’d say hello.

One day he overheard me tell an employee my keyboard had broken, and he immediately offered me one. He wouldn’t take money for it, saying he often had spare parts and he was happy to help.

He said he respected me for what I was doing – homeschooling and providing for my children. Rod put together a computer for me, gave me software I needed to promote my music, and most precious of all, he gave me a true friendship.

Since Rod never took money from me, I’d sometimes have lunch ready for him when he came over to work on my computer. More often than not, we just had tea and conversation.

Rod listened with full attention. He enjoyed hearing about my dreams for my music, my desire for peace in this world, the steps I took to contribute in my own small way. He supported me not only with the computer tools he provided me with, but encouragement and insight.

We also talked about personal stuff, relationships, heartache and hope. He blessed me with his insights. He gave me lots of wonderful advice that I never followed. But he was patient and unconditional in his acceptance and respect for me as a person and the path I chose to walk.

He was working on a software that would be a big help to businesses. I was working on a CD and dreamt of one day dancing on the Great Wall of China.

Rod believed I could do it.

Over the years, we saw less and less of each other, as life and its demands made our paths cross fewer times. But we kept in touch, even irregularly, and even as long periods of time went by.

Too much time went by. And then yesterday I learned it was too late for me to ever hear his voice again.

And tonight, I wake up in the middle of the night, angry. Angry at myself for letting him slip away from me like that. Why didn’t I call him sooner? Why did I let so much time go by?

Angry at the nature of reality for taking him. I wonder why beautiful people like Rod, like my sister, like so many others who have so much to give have their lives cut short, and some others who do nothing but take and inflict suffering live to ripe old ages?

It’s not always like this, I know. But tonight, it feels like it is.

I don’t understand. I had come to a place where I don’t need to. But not tonight. Tonight, my heart rails against the injustice, the unfairness of it all and it demands to know why.

I understand life isn’t fair. But tonight, I don’t care. I want it to be fair. The emptiness in my heart, the pain that opens like a great chasm wants it to be filled with fairness and truth and justice. Tonight I want to understand, I want to know there’s some meaning to all this, some purpose that will finally make sense.

But the only light I see tonight is this cold gray light from my computer screen, and the only thing I understand at this moment, is that I will miss my friend for a very, very long time.

Stacey showed me the “final” version of The Last Farewell. I put “final” in quotes, because he said he wants to make one more mix with a little less reverb on the voice, to see if the lyrics will a little clearer.

But I love, love, love what he has done with the arrangement and production. As usual, he has managed to capture the emotion and intent of the song. It’s beautiful. You know you’ve done good when the song you wrote, the picture you’ve painted, the sculpture you’ve created touches you as if you’re experiencing something someone else has created for the first time.

That is why I believe, in some way, the song, the work of art seeks the artist. No art is ever made from scratch, as if put together by nuts and bolts, but as a soul seeking to be born.

It feels so good to be able to record. It feels good to do something for someone who grieves. It’s really all I want to do with my music. To offer comfort and a little hope. Little is all you need. That’s how powerful Life is.

Yesterday, Stacey and I were in the studio actually recording! We do that so infrequently these days, but that’s, definitely, changing this year.

The song, The Last Farewell, is based on a poem written by the father of a young student killed in the Tiananmen Square Massacre. The father passed away not too long afterward. I’m not sure of what, but I believe, in part, he must have died of a broken heart.

I’ve had this poem for quite a while and put, what I felt, was the essence of it in lyric form. Originally, I wanted to sing it over a traditional Chinese lullaby, but a melody kept insisting itself upon the phrases, so I acquiesced. We laid down the initial tracks last year and only returned to them now to put in the finishing touches. Stacey will do a tad bit more of his magic arranging and it will be done.

I’m looking forward to singing this song at the 20th Anniversary of Tiananmen Square Massacre Candlelight Vigil this year in Washington, D.C., May 30th. To me, going to the vigil has always been about offering healing.

I hope this song will be a vehicle for that in whatever small measure.

In honor of the Chinese New Year and the Year of the Ox, I would like to share a touching video about a few people who decided to make a difference to one family.

Sometimes, we become overwhelmed by all the things that need to be done to make this world a better place. But we needn’t do everything. We just need to do our thing.

The ox represents stubborn persistence. I like that when it’s applied to what’s good and true. May we be just as tenacious in our ideals.

Many times it’s not a matter of not having enough, but using the “enough” you already have efficiently.

This goes for things such as time and energy, as well as money and material resources. It’s like having a file cabinet with research notes, descriptions of characters, lines for lyrics, drafts of projects, and creative ideas, all thrown in there. You know they’re in there somewhere…

Or maybe you forgot, and so you spend time reinventing the wheel again.

I have enough. There’s enough in my file drawers for several projects at the very least. And there’s enough time, money and network for me to, if not reach my goals, definitely make significant progress toward them.

But more than that, there’s also something else.

What about other things we misplace? What if, in addition to our notes, our ideas, our keys and glasses, amidst the clutter of our doubts, fears and apathy, we’ve misplaced the very stuff we’re made of that is waiting to take us to success?

Like specific strengths, talents and skills – perhaps our motivation, our tenacity – hidden somewhere among the jumble of negative messages and excuses we listen to?

I bet if we did a little bit of housecleaning, we would be amazed at what we would find.

Not only in our overstuffed file cabinets, but within ourselves.

What I love most isn’t just the message about hope, but the very clear call for responsibility and accountability – from all of us. It’s an invitation and a challenge that I take to heart.

I’ve never been so moved by a politician before, but then, his love for words and the beautiful images he creates with them, makes him an artist, as well. And I guess, that’s what artists do.

Touch people.