Still lost, still looking for answers

A child never stops wondering; at least I hope that's the case with me. Someday, the answers will come and I'll know more about Mom.


Were you one of the gazillion people who watched the confusing and popular TV series “Lost”? In our house we’d have to admit to a few missed episodes, especially during the third season.

I fell in love with the characters and on many occasions I could identify with their struggles. For every answer there were probably half a dozen more questions, and so it went for six seasons. Still, we stayed and watched and wondered. The physical and mental struggles of Jack, Kate, Sawyer, Hurley and all of the island mates (including the Smoke Monster) invaded our thoughts for days after the show aired.

I was particularly attracted to Jacob, probably because he seemed like a gentle man, a compassionate and all-knowing man with a sad countenance. I was drawn to him, hoping he would provide the answers to all of the problems. As we all now know, he did not do that but that’s OK. I remember him fondly.

The show is over, but I have some real life questions about my past. I’m looking for a Jacob to provide some of those answers and I hope this time he (or she) will be successful.

Regular readers know that our little family spent many of our early years in Sheffield. Mom was a striking-looking woman with her black hair and blue eyes; she stood out in a crowd. Sis and I were the most important things in her life, and I think most everyone knew that.

Mom was known simply as “Tony”; I never heard anyone call her by her given name of Tonica. One puzzle that has come to light again involves Mom walking down Main Street in Sheffield. Her name is called, and when she doesn’t respond, her name is called again—louder. Still no response, so the friend walks faster until she comes up behind the woman. A tap on the shoulder stops the woman cold and she turns to face the person calling out the name Tony.

What this friend sees is a mirror image of Mom, only it isn’t Tony. It’s a visitor to town with an entirely different name but the resemblance is stunning. Turns out that more than one person has seen this twin of our mother on several occasions. Later, things would get even weirder.

Years pass, Mom gets the auto-immune disease Scleroderma, and we all move to Kewanee. One night the three of us walked to the Piggly-Wiggly to pick up some items for a new puppy. As Mom pushed the cart down an aisle, an acquaintance from our Sheffield days walked up to us and stared at our mother. “Tony!” she said. “I thought you were dead!” Wow. Talk about weird. But it gets even stranger.

We found out that the woman who looked so like Mom had sadly shown up on the obituary page of this newspaper. The three of us looked at the picture, noted the sisterly resemblance again and in less than a minute, the world tilted slightly as we read that she had died from complications from Scleroderma.

With no one left on Mom’s side of the family to answer questions, I have been blessed to find family on Dad’s side who just might be able to shed some light on the mystery surrounding Mom. Did she have a twin sister? Did they ever meet? (Mom was very tight-lipped about her younger years.) We have so many questions, so few answers.

I do love puzzles, which is probably why Lost was such an important part of my life for the past six years. I thought I could figure it all out but I didn’t. At the end, as Jack lay dying in the woods he turns to find a gentle yellow Labrador inches away, giving comfort as only a dog can. No answers for a man who had more than his share of questions, and yet finally Jack did let go.

I have a yellow Lab too, and she has become a source of comfort to me. She makes me laugh and feel loved, but there is one thing she can’t do. Sarah can’t provide the answers I need; she’s only a dog, so my sister and I are hoping there is someone out there who knows something. Maybe someday sis and I will feel just a little less “lost.”

Finding comfort in cyberspace

I just love stuffed animals...live ones are best, of course, but I've never outgrown my love for teddy bears.


It’s been an interesting few days in cyberspace. It’s almost as interesting here on Earth, especially when one is having a conversation with those who think the Internet is a bad, bad place. Two breaths later they’re asking you this: “Oh, I was wondering. Could you look up something for me on the Internet?”

These folks make it clear that they would have no use for a computer, and besides the Internet being a bad, bad place, it’s too darn expensive.

There are two recent incidents that stand out clearly in my mind. One late night I opened Facebook to find dozens of messages about a friend who, according to one report, had had a “very bad thing” happen to her. Keep in mind, I’ve never met this person but alarm bells went off big time. I deciphered that something awful had happened with her and her dog.

A sidebar here: I’ve been a part of the online canine community for a while now. I love it there, where the talk is silly and the compassion is real.

Turns out that the friend in question had been bitten by a dog she had rescued. She got away, grabbed her other pooch and headed for the hospital. The dog who bit her was subsequently put down, and my friend and her other dog are home now but life is not the same for either of them.

Thing is, when she did come home she found an outpouring of love from all over the country, and mostly from folks she has never met. We offered condolences, encouragement, prayer and understanding. Some even told her they’d hop a plane or drive to her place to help out. I’m having a hard time seeing the downside to this Internet incident.

The second situation involves a dear friend who has cancer. She posts a blog about her experiences and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever read. There’s no telling how many people she has helped and will help in the future. Then, one morning I opened up Facebook and found, “Lots of pain. Please pray.” The floodgates opened and friends came forward and prayers were sent. Just like that. If not for this type of technology, would she have told anyone? And if she did, how long would it take that person to get the word out?

I know it seems as though I’m romanticizing technology and its many gadgets. But this week they proved their worth to me many times over and I’m so thankful. Some families don’t keep one another updated about serious stuff like health issues, even when they live in the same town. Those of us who are comfortable with computers and online friendships have a special lifeline that seems to be there whenever we need it.

Still, in order to keep this column (ahem) fair and balanced, there are folks out there who are bent on destroying reputations by starting rumors and spreading lies. I call them “keyboard cowards” who sit in front of computer screens and spew hatred one letter at a time. They name names and wait for the responses like a kid on Christmas morning. But there are no gifts here, and that’s the important thing to remember, because I learned something else this week. I’ll paraphrase: If someone gives you a gift, but you don’t accept it, to whom does the gift belong?

That got me to thinking. If you find yourself on the receiving end of hateful insults and rumors, you have the choice of whether or not to accept this “gift”. I say let the giver keep their offering of misery. They created it, they can keep it.

After all, there is a whole wide and wonderful world full of people with love and compassion to share. We can always use one more.

Friends for a reason, a season or a lifetime

I should look up the journals we kept--they're around here somewhere. I miss those times but I'll always cherish the memories of the trust we have in each other as friends for a lifetime.




Last November someone sent an e-mail that hit the spot. It was a quote about people and how they come into our lives for a “reason, a season or a lifetime.”

I’d just had two friendships crash and burn, but the e-mailer did not know that. The words were soothing, and it was clear that these two friends had come into my life (and I into theirs) for a reason. It was a bit easier to look ahead now and not mope about what had happened.

I took those “reasons” to heart because they rang true. These people come to us “to assist us through a difficulty, to provide us with guidance and support, to aid us physically, emotionally or spiritually. They may seem like a godsend and they are; they are there for the reason we need them to be.” Once their work is done, the relationship is over.

The note went on to say that those who come into our lives for a season are there because our turn has “come to share, grow or learn.” These folks are said to bring us an experience of peace, or to make us laugh; they may teach us something that we’ve never done, and though they usually give us an unbelievable amount of joy, we need to understand that their time in our lives is only for a season.

Lifetime relationships, the note said, teaches us lifetime lessons, things we must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation. Our job is to accept the lesson, love the person and put what we’ve learned to use in all other relationships and areas of our lives.

I have had friends who fall into more than one of these categories at a time. The two who came into my life for a reason did give me guidance and support, and they helped at a time I needed emotional support. But some of these same friends also helped me to grow and learn, they made me laugh and they certainly taught me some things that I continue to use today. I’m thankful for all of that, even though things didn’t work out.

My favorite and most precious friendships are the lifetime ones. I can count those on one hand and still have fingers left over. These are the folks who know exactly who you are, the ones you can bare your soul to and they won’t think any less of you. Maybe best of all, they won’t go and blab your secrets all over the place. Your heart is safe with them, and it always will be.

One of those friends is in town for a short time. Most of her visit here has flown by, and we’ve met up for lunch twice at a favorite restaurant. Throughout our history together we’ve sat in most every booth in the place. We’ve met off and on since around 1992, and there was a time when we both did something fun with our journals. We poured our heartfelt thoughts out on paper, and sometimes we saw where our tears had smeared the ink. Once we met up for lunch and gave our food order, we traded journals and read what we’d each gone through during the week. We never held our feelings back; it was an unforgettable experience.

Anna and her husband Steve will leave Illinois Sunday morning. It’s true that she’s only a phone call away, but I’d much rather see her sitting across from me in a booth at the Barnhouse.

This is the kind of friend to treasure—one who is there for a reason, a season and a lifetime. Safe travel, my friend.

The perfect Mother's Day gift

Mom and me...date unknown



In my dream, there is the small kitchen with the window facing the sidewalk that leads to town. White eyelet curtains move quietly in the warm lilac-scented breeze, and the girl, chin resting on folded arms watches as a young woman makes her way toward town. It's almost always the same dream; sometimes, though, the point-of-view is reversed as the young woman turns back toward the tiny house and her eyes lock on those of the girl in the window.

There are no sounds of birdsong, no voices, and I'm sure the smell of lilacs is simply imaginary. What matters here is that the young woman and the girl are the same person.

I started having this dream after I read somewhere that we should ask ourselves this question: Would the person you were as a child be happy with the grown-up you've become?

Sunday is Mother's Day and there will be a plethora of columns written about the subject. I've written about my own mom in these pages a few times, but the other day I was thinking about those who will face the holiday this time around for the first time without their mother. If the son or daughter had a close relationship, it will be hard. If they didn't, it will still be hard. The bonds between parents and children are infuriatingly complex, but that doesn't stop us from trying to unravel the mystery.

Mom and Dad divorced when I was three weeks old. I met Dad once, for about an hour, in 1975. He died 18 years later on Christmas Day, 20 years after my mom passed away. In February a small envelope came in the mail that held photos of my mom, dad and another relative along with a note from someone claiming they had found these among their late mother's belongings. There was a promise of more to come, and indeed there were more photos. I saw my mom and dad as a happy couple, my dad and his horse, Goldie, and more. So many smiles, so long ago.

Sis and I grew up with a single mother who had her own jaded view of the world. She disliked and distrusted anyone who was not white, all churches, and most men. We could have grown up to be racist, non-church-going men-haters, but we made our own decisions based on the way Mom lived her life. Sis and I became good cooks (like Mom), and while I seem to have inherited her love of the dark and creepy horror stories, I also love music and poetry.

As grown women, and as mothers and grandmothers, sis and I are hopefully examples of love and acceptance. We've tried (and mostly succeeded) in weeding out what we perceived to be unacceptable traits in Mom while trying to hold onto the beautiful parts of her that made her who she was.

This will be our 37th Mother's Day without Mom. We have our own families now, and we pray that our children and grandchildren will follow our example: Find all that is good in us--embrace it and pass it on to future generations. For some of us, that would be the best Mother's Day gift ever.