CK's Blog

If I had my life to live over

If I had my life to live over again, I'd dare to make more mistakes next time.

I would relax. I would limber up. I would be sillier than I have been this trip. I know of very few things that I would take seriously. I would take more trips. I would climb more mountains, swim more rivers and watch more sunsets. I would do more walking. And looking. I would eat more ice cream.

And less beans.

I would perhaps have more actual troubles, but fewer imaginary ones.

Oh, I've had my moments, and if I had it to do over again, I'd have more of them. In fact I'd try to have nothing else. Just moments. One after another, instead of living so many years ahead of each day.

If I had my life to live over, I would travel lighter next time. I would start barefoot earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall. I would play hooky more. I would go to more dances. I would ride on more merry-go-rounds.

I would pick more daisies.

That was my momma's favorite poem. Not because she lived with regrets; because she always reminded her two girls to value the simple things that are so often taken for granted. Like time.

I still cannot rightly express what a beautiful job my sister Melissa did reciting this poem at my mother's celebration of life ceremony. In those moments, I was back to being a little girl again, completely and totally awestruck by my big sister's strength, and sheer radiance.  Fact is, Melissa still doesn't know how much she honored her mother through those words--and how good a care she has taken of her little sister over the past twelve months. Even putting my pain ahead of her own.

So as we soon come up on a year of missing our momma, and with my sister asking when I'll post on it again--a professor, she's not one for the marketing blogs!--this one is for her. The picture above is my most favorite of them. Because they're swinging, sure, but more so because momma is smiling at her happy daughter (just click on the pic to make it larger). Here are beautiful pictures and stories of my mother as well as this 60-second video below (RSS and email subscribers, just click through to view).

Hey, it won't bother me a bit if you never take a word of my advice. Except this one: all we have is time (or moments). No super-savings plan or shrewd strategy will buy you a moment more. It matters what you do with your time, how much you enjoy it and with whom you spend it. Because of the simple fact that we don't get those moments back.

(Which is the answer to why life is so precious.)

X-mas still comes early (for Melissa)

(note: comments are closed on this one; it's not a marketing post this 'round. Next time for sure.)

The holidays are off this year, because of losing my sweet momma several months back. Naturally, my sister's feeling it too. After all, momma was wildly popular -- especially with her girls.  And that woman was a holiday fanatic. It could not start early enough. She would start buying gifts in, like, March.

Maybe February.

On the holidays we spent apart from her, our mom would ship us our gifts. And then have them to us by December 1st .

Then she'd want us to open all of them on the phone with her.

On December 1st.

It's like she'd waited so long she was just going to bust. 

Even in April when we went to say goodbye, there were x-mas presents for this year already wrapped in her apartment.

So this video (below) is for Melissa. And this way she'll still get something in early December. It's not from Mom, but it's about her.

I've said it before and it bears repeating: my sister has never been more strong or more radiant than when she gave her eulogy. I'll never be more proud of her.

It's just not possible.

For the backstory on many of the pics in this video you can go here. (RSS and email readers: just click through to the blog to view it).

PS: Thanks to Eddie Tadross for recording such a perfect song. (I don't know him but figure I should thank him...cuz that's how my momma raised me.)

Never occurred to me.

Note: I've closed comments to this post. Hope that's OK.

When you experience a life-changing event such as loss, you...or I should say I...didn't really think. I just did what I could to get from moment to moment, make it through the whopping amount of tasks thrown at me, work to honor the magnificent person I had lost and really work to make some sense of it all. Still am.

I can't even begin to tell you what this community did for me. It's nothing short of incredible and I still don't have the right words with which to thank you. I likely never will.

But what happened to my blog was that it went from a marketing blog to a full-on momma blog. For many weeks. And you were so patient with me. 

Now, back to the "no thinking" part. It didn't occur to me that the category of posts that I had created would live on and be threaded throughout the search engines. Um, duh, right? Again, I wasn't thinking.

I was too busy feeling.

Sure, I knew I was looked to as a marketing blog, but I didn't know that my posts on loss would help many grieving people. Incredible to me, really.

I've had several people that I've never known--nor will ever really know--reach out to me and thank me. Every week I get traffic from people searching google for information on "loss", "loss of mother", "support for a friend who's lost a mom" and so on. I've spent some late nights emailing with women whom I've never met but were preparing for their eulogies the next day. I've had a funeral home cite my post to show how people can hold a celebration of life instead of a "funeral" (I still can't imagine honoring her spirit any better than a day filled with more giggling about the good times than crying about the sad times ahead) and I've had other sites want to share how people can dedicate a tree to a lost one.

I've had people thank me for suggesting some good reads as they're still grappling with loss years later. And others thanking me for giving them a new idea to help heal.

Many who aren't even grieving just love that this blog is dedicated to her.

I'm so glad those posts are helping others. But it just never, ever occurred to me that people would be looking here as they make their way through loss. I guess it's because those posts, unlike my other posts, weren't written for an audience--and certainly not from an expert perspective. They were just written to help me (and writing about her felt like the only way I could talk to her).

There are a lot of resources to read on loss and grief, but maybe it's also helpful to hear it from someone who's just working their way through it. Not sure; like I said, I just really wasn't thinking about it at the time.

July 28, 2007: a hard day, but one filled with so much humanity

Today is the day that my momma would have been 65 years' young. Her birthday feels very different than Mother's Day felt. I think it's because Mother's Day is for all mommas, but her birthday is just hers (and always will be).

Getting a call while you're walking across a busy NYC street laughing with your friends after just seeing an amazing play...a call that leads to information and a decision...that leads you to a million emotions and a zillion things you have to take care of--but had never thought about because you've never lost a parent before--is really hard to explain. Because you've never had that experience before.

And then getting into a cab because you need to get home to pack to get on the first flight out from NYC to Alabama after you've just had to rush into a coffee shop so you could better hear the Doctor and give the OK not to resuscitate your momma should she flat-line (these were her explicit wishes should she ever be pronounced brain dead) and then needing to make the call to your sister, while you're still in the cab, to deliver the horrifying news and hear her horrifying scream is nothing short of surreal.

You're choking on tears and need to vomit but must somehow compose yourself because you have to make flight arrangements and pack so you can get on the first flight out. All you want to do is to get to your mother's side. But all these obstacles--like finding a flight, packing, calling people, thinking straight, having to remember to pack a black dress for the impending service--are between you and your momma's side.

While you're sitting on flights--or waiting between 3 layovers--you keep calling the hospital to see if she's still alive and they say "She's doing fine." You think this means "She's made a comeback!" But what they actually mean is that she hasn't flat-lined and is still being kept alive by machines. And then you say, "I'm worried she's thirsty, I know she's thirsty, please make sure to give her water and plenty of pain medication as I know she's hurting." And they so kindly say, "Honey, she's lost the ability to swallow, remember that she can no longer breathe on her own, she can't feel any pain...because her brain no longer processes pain."

And right about then--I think I was in Cincinatti Airport--it hits you that the agenda for this trip is nothing short of laying the person you love the most...the person that knows you most...to rest.

Scientifically, I wonder what the grieving person's brain and heart looks like during these moments. But all you can do is take it one moment, one flight and one task at a time. Because when you finally arrive at your momma's side you realize that the worst is nowhere near behind you.

And then 17 weeks go by and it becomes a little less surreal. You're pleased that you celebrated her life in a way that aligned with her true spirit, you're proud you got through Mother's Day and now it's time to get through the "first birthday." And you realize that you miss her as much now as then...and that you will continue to miss her this much for the rest of your life. The act of accepting loss is not one where you stop missing the person, it's accepting you'll continue to miss the person and weave that into your everday life.

That's not to say I'm not moving forward nor is it to say I don't have joy. Life has certainly changed but life is, by all counts, still very full. My work is going well (and busy!), my social life is fun, I've a ton of friends old and new (both online and offline), I have a good appetite and sleep well. I've confirmed that I made the right decision to work for myself, to live in this grand city and to be a part of the blogging community. It's just that I really miss my momma.

Many people asked me if I found new faith through my loss. I explain that I found humanity. I will forever remain astounded--absolutely, positively astounded--at the kindness of this community and that of my offline friends, too. Your prayers, poems, posts, thoughts, cards, e-cards, calls, teddy bears, stuffed lion animals, charity endeavors, momma tree (!) and precious eBook dedication to her memory have left me without the right words to express my gratitude. They continue to touch and impress upon me so much and you have all made this process filled with so much humanity...I can't imagine anyone needing any one thing more--and it is truly the one thing that best honors her memory. I've you fine people to thank for that.

PS: That's a classic shot of momma at the top and one of her giggling and swinging with my amazing sister, Melissa, on the right. More great pics of mom and happy stories are right here.

Update (07.29.07): I've just learned that a fellow member of our community, John Moore (of Brand Autopsy Blog) lost his mother on Friday. I thought you would want to know. Sending a world of love, prayers and strength to his family during this difficult time.

A (momma!) tree grows full of joy.

I was thinking this Memorial Day Weekend had a Meetup in store for me with the likes of such groovy bloggers as Drew McLellan, David Reich, Valeria Maltoni and Lewis Green. What's most neat is that I've met them all before so we get to meetup again...and they get to meet one another for the first time (except that David and Valeria had met previously at our Manhattan Blogger Meetup a few months back).

Yep, a fun lunch on Saturday in the Bryant Park Area--right behind NYC's famed library--is the treat I thought I was in for. Um, no...you bloggers sure are sneaky! As the case turned out, I was in for the most giving act of human kindness I'll likely ever witness. Best of all, I can witness it again and again. (So can you when you're in NYC).

Thanks to the boundless grace of many bloggers (listed below), my mother is now commemorated and honored in New York City with her own tree (for those new to my blog, my mother died suddenly 8 weeks ago--a tribute with pictures of her is here). But it's more than a tree. It's a sanctuary. More than that, the tree has been planted in a park in Spanish Harlem which is in a part of the city that is a "BID" (Business Improvement District). So this beautiful act betters a community...which makes a whole lotta sense since the beauty of this community's moving act betters me.

And my wonderful sister Melissa--who's never blogged a day in her life--is gonna be bowled over (!) when she sees this (she lives in the D.C. area and will visit me and our "momma tree" this summer). She's already astounded at the dedication of the eBook, the charity initiative and the many letters and poems we've received. Yep, sissy and I now have a new place where we can be close to our momma's spirit. I wish I had better words for what I'm feeling; it's like I'm floating.

I know that Drew and David spearheaded this effort and I'm not sure just how to thank them, or each of you. I've no precedent for this level of give. Drew, your family is beautiful and I'm grateful you flew into NYC! Lewis and Valeria, I love that we're hanging in the city every couple months, I'm getting used to it (and thanks for taking trains south and north to get to me). David, you're my pal and made sure I got there and stayed in town. And Luc...we'll address the fact that you've spent a 16-hour round-trip plane ride from BELGIUM (!) to be with me on this special occasion under "separate cover" (psst: that's code for an upcoming post--it's here). I nearly fainted seeing you; too bad we don't have my screaming on camera. Actually, probably best we don't as the mash-ups would haunt me forever ;-).

But to EVERYONE who did this, please know you were there yesterday. I honestly don't know how I'm worthy of this good-ness but I take heart in the fact that momma is. Indeed you have given me what I most needed: you've given me back my joy.

And if I feel down you know what I'm gonna do? Damn straight, I'm going to see my momma's tree!

While the pictures on the right cite everyone that was there in person, this could NOT have been done without the gifts and generosity of a MUCH larger group...and you were all in our thoughts and there in spirit. I cannot thank you enough for proving that blogging is not about rankings but about relationships...thanks galore be going to: Drew McLellan, David Reich, Valeria Maltoni, Lewis Green, Luc Debaisieux, David Armano, Roger Von Oech, Mack Collier, Toby Bloomberg, Tim Jackson, Marianne Richmond, From Marketing Profs: Ann Handley, Val Frazee, Sharon Edwards and Carrier Shearer, Mario Sundar, Gianandrea Facchini, Cam Beck, Gavin Heaton, Katie Chatfield, Matt Dickman and Paul McEnany. And I'm so glad I was able to speak to Toby, Roger and David, too.

Here is the plaque (thanks to Luc for this great shot, just click to enlarge) and it says: "Honoring the life and spirit of Sandra Kerley". And that says it all ;-).

Updates: Lewis has a great post on this here, David has a great one here and Drew has a "soulful" one here. And Valeria has a "Tree of Life" post here.

The Many Faces of Momma

My momma had many facets. Many faces, too. As we approach this day--the first Mother's Day I face without her--I want to (finally!) share her many faces with you.

See, I need a way to celebrate her, to be close to her. It helps to make the day still very special, and more bearable.

It's all too easy to make those no longer with us out to be perfect. It's easy to forget when they struggled. But mom's struggles taught me a pivotal lesson...

While our hardships serve us with challenges, they also give us a choice: through them we can choose to be bitter or we can choose to be better. Choosing--well, trying really hard--to be better has kept me going, and definitely kept me writing, these past six weeks without her.

Momma will forever be very much "alive" to me. But in my writing she'll always be a character. So in addition to sharing her with you, I'm taking this opportunity to dedicate my writing to her. My talent is truly what I have. And I just prefer giving what I have back to her. Thank you for being so very good to me through this time, in return it gives me so much joy to share with you the many faces of my smart, sweet and silly momma. Click on any of the pics to enlarge them to full size...or view a video of them at the end of the post.

Smiling-for-the-judges momma: Here she is as a kid (at 6) in a beauty pageant--isn't she a beauty? I love this shot capturing her as she's just starting out her life's journey, all full of bounce and innocence. If you click to enlarge the picture you'll see the number they tagged her for the pageant was "20." That suits me just fine given, on a scale from 1 to 10, she was truly a 20.

Winning momma: This shot of her hollering (in her late 30s/early 40s) is the happiest moment of her life and I am beyond grateful to forever have a record of this face. At this exact moment she learned she'd won the election--she has so many emotions going on her face doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. With zero political experience, she possessed a passion which drove her to win Deputy Mayor against a 7-year incumbent and the honor of being the first woman EVER elected to the role. That was impressive enough to land her an invite to Reagan's inauguration (yeah, you have to be invited to those events). She's wearing a Philadelphia Eagles shirt because many from the team were there to support her as we lived near Philly at the time.

Swimming momma: Ah, the underwater shot. This is my MOST favorite shot of her (in her late 40s). No, not because it's silly, but because of the story behind it. You see, we had a robbery earlier that year and momma said, "Here's the way I see it: with the insurance money we can either buy new silver and replace my jewelery...which could be stolen again...or we can go on a cruise--and they can never steal those memories." So we went to The Bahamas, baby! To the scoundrels who have our silver and gems, I say: thanks a million for the memories.

Swinging momma: Here we have mom (in her mid 50s) swinging with with her oldest daughter --my beautiful sister Melissa--two days before Melissa's wedding in the South of France. Enlarge it to see momma giggling on the swing set with her daughter. Apparently mom was going through a "blonde" phase at the time (a phase lasting about two years). Melissa, this one is really for you: you've been a rock for your sister through all of this. You make me better and, while you received much from our mom, most of all you inherited her generosity. Believe it.

Charming momma: Here's momma talkin' up Joe DiMaggio (believe she's in her early 40s). I can see it now, she's working to engage Joe around one of her many causes while getting his autograph. What a charmer, right? Yeah I learned from the best ;-).

Classic momma: The last shot below (in her early 50s) is "classic mom." It's mom at her most radiant and is the face that comes most to mind when my sister and I think of her. Melissa sees momma in her dreams, but I've not yet seen her in mine. Maybe one day.

I'll end with a few words for her: Momma, thank you for teaching me that people--all people, from all walks of life--are so very much worth getting to know. That inspiring people is what gives us our humanity. And that when we listen to others we're not only learning from them, it is in those moments that we're most respecting them. It is a magnificent honor to have known you, to be of you, to miss your many faces...and to dedicate my writing to you. Happy Mother's Day, from both your girls.

P.S.: If you ever miss my momma's faces don't you worry, this dedication is forever available on my blog's side rail (otherwise I would miss her too much).

Update (05.27.07): Many kind bloggers (I should just say friends who also happen to blog) paid a tribute to momma and planted a tree in NYC to honor her--which I call "momma tree!" It's a beautiful tribute, and you can read about it here.

The absence of fear (that darn lion!)

Fridays are especially tough for me these days. Friday is usually "TGIF!" But now it marks the day that I got that call. Four Fridays ago to be exact. I've never gone this long without speaking to my mother and yet, years from now this will seem like such a short time I've gone without her voice.

As I've said earlier, loss is a peculiar thing. Peculiar in how you process it both consciously and subconsciously and peculiar in that everyone processes it differently. I believe there exist as many ways to experience loss as there are people on this earth. Sure, now I can reach out to others who have lost someone dear and say "I understand how hard this is." But I can never say "I understand how you feel" or I understand what you're experiencing." It's their experience and theirs alone.

Even one of my dearest friends, whom I'm very much like and who lost her father four days before I lost my mother, is processing it very differently than I. Not better nor worse, just differently. After losing a loved one some people change their lives, others change their ways. Some open up while others shut down. It doesn't change everyone in nearly the same way but one thing is certain: it does change you.

A lot of people report 'gaining' after they lose a loved one. Some gain a newfound perspective, a new insight or an entirely new interest. For me it's not a gain, I've lost something. This seems to make a whole lotta sense to me being I'm experiencing a loss. The thing I've lost? Fear. I use to expend (precious) time fearing...do I really have what it takes to pull this off? What will people think if they know I'm not strong? What if I fail and (gulp!) fail miserably? What will people say if I don't sound smart? 

Now I don't care about those things, or not nearly as much. After all, fear is so many times most times irrational and powered by internal forces, not external ones. It's just such a waste of time...when time is all we really have.

Sure, I will always care deeply that what I put out there--professionally and personally--is advancing and adds value. That hasn't changed and I'm likely even more committed to it. It's just that I won't let fear hold me back from trying something, doing something, saying something. So now when I'm concerned or hesitant, I ask myself if it's really the thing...or if it's really the fear... that I'm concerned about (psst: 99% of the time it's the fear).

Throughout my life people have remarked that I'm brave and strong. I've always thanked them for such kind, gracious remarks. But I've never seen this. I've never felt it. In fact, I even made it a point to be more courageous this year (hence that lion up there has been my blog's mascot since January 2nd).

Some say failure is "merely the absence of success." I thought that line was a load of bull. But now I better understand that courage isn't something you gain; it's just the absence of fear. So while I may not have an easy time with Fridays at least the days between them aren't filled with nearly as much fear.

P.S.: When we were packing up my mother's house the last thing we found was a book titled "Courage" that my sister gave to my mother years back. I naturally handed it to her to keep and she handed it back to me and said "This is for you being that the lion is your mascot." Wild how much that lion has come full circle, eh? That darn lion ;-).

CK as a baby, a bunny...and with really BIG hair!

Along with organizing cards, one of my "momma action points" has been organizing and scanning many of the pictures she saved. So guess what? You get to have some fun at my expense! Sorry kids, there will be no marketing today; but there will be fun: Here's CK around three (or four)...at twelve..and at twenty (maybe nineteen). Click on the pics to view them (gulp!) larger.

The youngest picture of me on the left features my favorite stuffed animal. As with everything else when I was younger, I grew allergic to it (ah-choo!) so mom made me a new one with artificial, non-allergic stuffing, instead of cotton. It didn't work. He wasn't soft and cuddly anymore, he was more like a sponge. We tried for two weeks to adjust to it--two weeks is a very, very long time for a three year-old--and then I just ultimately gave it back explaining, "He's not right now." Imitation stuffing was just not true to my stuffed animal (these days I guess I'd say he was no longer authentic).

As "playboy bunny" for Halloween at twelve, you can see my oh-so-sexy pose on the right. Did I think I was trying out for Marching Band? Or worse...did I really think this pose was sexy? And of course all playboy bunnies wear big turtlenecks ('twas cold at Halloween) and wear their ears so they look more like an airplane propeller than a bunny (Mom, why didn't you fix my ears?). During these years I spent a lot of time singing and dancing with my friends (actually, I still do).

In the pic below, I'm having my official sorority shot taken. Man did I have big hair! Laugh all you want at my sorority days and I've talked them before. To be clear, mine was a great group of supportive, rockin' females, not a snobby, elitist group (ick!). Plus, had the members not elected me "Membership Chair" I wouldn't have found my calling (I didn't really know what I was to do when they said "market us!"). In fact, I was going to become a lawyer...yeah, me doing tax law I can see it now (Not!). I remember getting perms every 8 weeks; amazing I kept my hair with all the hairspray I used. Btw, we sorority girls didn't really wear pearls all the time. And this "gown" I'm wearing in the pic? It's just a mock shirt they give you so the picture looks all pristine. I think I was wearing jeans when this was taken.

As for the awkward teenage years? Those pics are better left in scrapbooks. Just trust me on that one.

If you like me in bunny ears, here's one as of me in Mickey Ears. How far back is this one?  Um, January...of THIS year! It was for a good cause and a tremendous colleague, that story is here. Mostly I include this shot because it helps me remember I haven't lost my silly streak--even in my 30s and even after clocking time in business school and the corporate world. Marketing is important and I delight in all sorts of methodologies and revenue objectives but silliness is important, too...yes, my smart momma taught me that :-).

Funny Bunny Idea: I think it would be oh-so-silly fun if some of YOU good marketers would post some funny pics with silly stories from "back then". Heck, Lewis Green already has posted a pic from his younger days with his military buddies (no, he's not wearing a bunny suit). After all, who we WERE has made us who we ARE. Enjoy the weekend and, for the love of marketing, don't forget to be silly.

Getting to "later": Words matter (stuff not so much).

When you're packing up a house after a death, it's a frenzied rush. You're devestated by the loss but you're also overwhelmed being you had not mentally prepared to pack. In your head you just need to get to the finish line (i.e. get all the darn "stuff" packed up). There is just so much thrown at you and it's just one REALLY big action point on your REALLY long list of action points.

Some people are afforded going through all items one-by-one and "ooh-ing" and "aah-ing" over every little thing. I envy those people. My sister and I kept a lot but we had to be really focused on packing...and work to keep emotion at a remove...because there was just so much between us and that finish line. Mom lived in an apartment so we literally needed to clear out the place. I think we ended up keeping about twenty big boxes of "stuff".

Sure, my sister and I knew of some "special things" we wanted to keep right off the bat. For example, Mom had a beautiful vintage quilt that was important to my sister while I fancied this special miniature carnival horse made from clay (I used to take it from my mom's room and put it in mine. It made her angry and made her giggle :-).

But, the endless drawers filled with papers, cards, notes and records? Oy. We just poured all of those into boxes mentally labeled "later." We had no time or energy for "later." We certainly wouldn't throw that stuff away but we needed to get to that finish line and those silly items could just wait since they didn't need bubble wrap. After all, they were just worthless paper that required attention at a later date. Maybe there was a statement or a policy we would need. But we didn't need those items until later.

Last Tuesday I received A LOT of boxes. It was time to unpack. Once again, I was handed yet another finish line I needed to get to...this time in New York City. And once again, I left the "later" boxes until last knowing it would take a lot of time to go through all those silly pieces of paper. I first needed to put away various categories of "stuff" like jewelry, special dresses, knick-knacks, towels and kitchen pieces. You know, the important items. And I needed to ensure that carnival horse made it in one piece (it did).

So, come Sunday, April 16th, it was finally time for "later." Oy. All those darn pieces of paper standing between me and my finish line. But something really special happened on the way to later. In those boxes I found THE most important thing I'll ever receive from my momma. Damn if that sentimental woman didn't save every single card that Melissa and I had ever sent her. Every single one. And this is a woman who has moved--no lie--at least twenty times in her life across many states. She hauled those words across states including AL, MA, VA and NJ. Really a feat by her to ensure she always had our words, actually.

That pic above is a smattering of the cards I sent my momma over the years. While I have many of those she sent to me...it's the ones that I sent her that have been the single greatest healing practice for me. Let me say that again: it's the words that I sent her that have given me such joy as I get to re-live the joy I gave her starting from about age 3 until present day in my 30s. While each card talks about different current events, boyfriends, college exams, new jobs and crises there are two themes present in every letter: thanking her for supporting me and telling her how much I loved her. Ironically, this is a level of relief that I can't adequately put into words.

Quilts and special carnival horses aside, if I could only get one thing from mom's estate it's these letters. I'm sure a lot of people read letters FROM their loved ones. I advocate reading the letters you sent TO them. I've not yet seen this practice detailed in grieving books but I tell you, it's the best thing one can do. Well, I should say the best thing I've done as grief is different for everybody. And I'll read these throughout my life.

What's the takeaway? Words. Words are important; stuff not so much. In our professional lives words are a testament to our beliefs, passion, ethics and expertise. In our personal lives they're a testament to our feelings. Insofar as social media? I come to value this medium even more because we have a permanent record of all our words. Momma kept my words and, lucky for us, search engines and software keep ours. So we'll always have that "later" box to refer to when we need it. And believe me, whether to reflect, find a resource or, even mourn, we'll someday need those words more than anything else.

While it was always known I wouldn't be getting any big estate or inheritance (not that I care) I feel that I have. These cards are my true inheritance. If there were one thing I'd reach for in case of fire, it would be these cards.

What am I really excited about? I have a TON of letters my sister sent my mother...and I get to hand deliver them to her soon (that's a sampling of Melissa's letters to mom in the third picture). So she'll be getting the inheritance of her words to her mom, too. I didn't read them, those are only for my sister (and my momma).

I'm glad I waited until "later" to take the time to go through this gift. As it happens, later came at precisely the right time. And yeah, I now get to "ooh" and "aah" over each letter.

Authenticity is magical (even if the process sucks)

I just completed a book titled "The Year of Magical Thinking" by Joan Didion. No, it's not a contender for the Book Club as it's not a book about how to create magical, revenue-rich programs; it's a book about the grieving process. It was my one action point this week...well, I've a ton of action points...but it was my top priority (thanks pal, for getting and even hand delivering it to me along with chocolate!).

What has most surprised me about the grieving process is how I've reacted to it. I'm usually all about epiphanies, silver linings on fluffy clouds and finding the inspiration in things. Not these days.

It's not that I'm negative, nor am I unpleasant to be around. People remark on how funny I am through all of this (I guess, unlike the Hulk, you would like me when I'm angry). But if you're around me, I just need to keep it very, very real. I've found I need, "Yep, the shit hits ten fans, you go through hell a few times, and if that ain't enough, your life and work seem pointless" much more than I need "There is purpose in this." Finding purpose is just far too much pressure at this point.

In line with this need, the book is a very "real" account of the grief that enveloped the writer for the year following the sudden death of her husband of 40 years while her daughter slipped in and out of two comas (her daughter recovered, but just barely). As she explains, "grief is something that happens to you, but mourning is something you actively have to do". During her grief she has illogical thoughts and transporting memories, referring to them as "magical" since they weren't true to her otherwise rational self.

Was it a moving read? Nope. An uplifting journey? Not a chance. Is it raw? Yep. And that makes it oddly comforting. Certainly at this time I relate to the writer's experience but what resonates--and what won my respect--is her delivery. Why? Because it's authentic. She didn't have a message, she has a story. She doesn't sugar coat (uh, quite the opposite) and she doesn't compensate: she gives herself completely to her audience through honestly communicating her experiences.

I know my joy and positive nature are returning. But it's ONLY through authenticity...even when it means that I authentically face a very challenging, at times downright sucky, road ahead...that is bringing back my positive outlook. Why? Because I'm being honest (read: authentic) with myself.

This week my blog made it back on the list of Top 25 marketing blogs. Mack was happy for me but I wasn't. I told him "It doesn't feel right being back on the list since the spike in traffic has been because of the tragedy. It's just so wrong. It looks awful to readers." Plus, because he's getting so close to making the list I keep asking Mack to give away my spot to Gavin (I know that's against the rules but he belongs on the list damn't since all he does is celebrate others!). Honestly, while an honor to be on lists it's the relationships, not the rankings, that are important to me anyhow.

But then Mack pointed out, "it's because you shared yourself with your readers." And it got me thinking. There are about 50 of you fine folks that I'm close to...so obviously the majority of readers whom I don't yet know (but look forward to knowing--drop me a line anytime!) are taking some interest in what I'm sharing and keep coming back (thank you for your time; I cherish it).

Does that mean I'll turn this into a personal blog? No. It just means something that we all know but are becoming even more acutely aware of: people connect with people and people are engaged by and through authentic communications. It's why I connected with the book, why I connect with so many of you and why many of you connect with me. So too with corporate communications.

For instance, when I started this blog I thought the big draw would be the interview series I had going. Honestly, I just didn't think readers would be interested in any of my viewpoints or opinions. Who the heck was I and truly, why the heck would any of you care? Folks, I spent so much time on those pieces that focused on others and yet the pieces that were my opinions--that took far less time!-- were far more read.

Heck, when I started blogging I refused to have a picture of me on my blog and had a cartoon figure instead. It took me a few months when I started to realize "real me" trumps "cartoon me" (even tho' I programmed cartoon me to wink at you every five seconds :-). The notion that people would want to experience me was...and still is...my single greatest surprise in blogging. But it's just those surprises that make authenticity--in both brands and people--indeed magical.

Home Sweet Home

Grief is peculiar at best. You think, "I've got it all together now, I did all the action points and the worst is behind me." And then it rips you in two and breaks your heart all over again. And then again. You don't really sleep, you just stop thinking about it for a few hours.

And then the alarm clock in your head reminds you of it and you start a new day of loss.

You think that each day will make it easier. Right now it just makes it more real. You think, "today I've only cried ten times"...as if the quantity of tears is a sign of progress. You think there could be shortcuts when you focus on the positive.

But there's no way around it...only through it (ugh).

People tell you to turn to God--and while I'm a believer in a higher power--the problem is, he's the one I'm most angry with right about now (since he's perfect, he will surely get over my beef with him). You're told he works in mysterious ways. But when you're grieving it just sounds like a really, really bad cliche.

People tell you "She's in a better place." You smile but you think about how if she's going to spend an eternity there the place could have waited a few more decades. What's a few more decades to the man upstairs? Just the blink of an eye, really. But for me, that time meant zillions of phone calls, giggles, silly cards, loving holidays and special celebrations. Arguments even, what I wouldn't give to have a knock-down, drag-out argument with her over politics right now.

My how she was looking forward to the upcoming political campaign...not sure if I've shared this but she was invited to Reagan's first inauguration--with only two years of political experience under her belt. That just doesn't happen unless you're monied up (we weren't)--or extremely influential (she was so naturally talented at bringing people together to advance a cause).

She was also the first woman ever to be elected Deputy Mayor in our New Jersey township (with zero political experience) and beat a seven-year incumbent...who told her to "just go back down south woman with your southern accent" swearing she'd never get even 10% of the vote. He wouldn't even shake her hand when she won by a remarkable majority...but she graciously extended hers and complimented him, telling him "that's the southern way, after all." Reason she won was two-fold: you couldn't not like her and she launched such creative campaigns.

Heck, we went to go see the broadway play "Annie" and during the middle of it when the lead was singing the famed song "Tomorrow...is only a day away" mom decided "Tomorrow will be a better day" would be her darn platform and campaign theme song. Damn if we didn't leave the show with a committment by the lead to sing the song in our front yard a week later for a press conference! For free. Let's just say that when you're 12 years old and Annie sings in your front yard you get to be the most popular kid at school all month long.

And Annie liked mom so much she came back to host a fashion show for charity. For free. That just doesn't happen...unless you're just that good a person (and yes, that great a marketer ;-).

But the worst part of grief? Feeling like everything you've done or do is just so very pointless. Especially when that's not your nature. My nature is about advancing good initiatives, good people and good practices. Certainly didn't make me rich, but it made me so very happy and wealthy in the important ways.

So right now I pray for two things: to "feel" her spirit again and to get my joy back. I need to thank this good community for helping me do both. As if the tremendous, outpouring of support wasn't enough (and it was)...the dedication of the eBook wasn't the single greatest thing that has moved me EVER (believe it)...today you have started a charity initiative for mom (and a cool graphic!). She would be so very proud tickled pink and you have honored her (and me).

She and I love Habitat for Humanity. It gives people homes; what's better than a home really? Dignity. You see, the people in need of homes actually build them right alongside the volunteer team so it's not so much "charity" as it is "community."

Want to know something special? The birthday present she had for me this year...that was waiting at the house for me last week...was a teddy bear from "Habitat for Humanity." She made a donation to the charity this year instead of buying me a present and received that in return: that's the bear in the pic at the top - his shirt says "Home Sweet Home." Ain't that cool?

I do promise this: I will always cherish, contribute to and protect this pure community. I've said it scores of times to friends and colleagues before this tragedy--and I was amazed at how fervently I felt about it then. So you can imagine how utterly core I feel about it now. These relationships are real, generous and wholly advancing...and give me so much joy.

Thanks for your continued patience with me and for being so amazing to me. At best, grief is just truly a peculiar process. Swear my momma is gonna kick my butt if this doesn't turn back into a marketing blog soon ;-).

There will be no funeral today (only cause for celebration)

Dear Blogosphere:

It's official; I've just lived through the hardest week of my life. While I'm still in shock and keep reaching to call my mom, I'm shocked that it has only been a week. Feels like a friggin' year since my sister Melissa from Washington D.C. and I from New York City descended upon the amazing small town of Guntersville, Alabama (population: 6,000) to put our mother to rest.

While neither of us have ever lived there--most of our lives have found us in major cities in the Northeast--we had a community embrace us...most of whom have never met us. Didn't matter, they were there to help us because that's what communities do. Just like this marketing community did for me and my sister.

After we discontinued life support on Sunday we committed to something that I share with you: while it would be a hard week it didn't have to be a "bad" week. After all, we were honoring and mourning a person that impacted us in defining, advancing ways. We had no unresolved issues or regrets and told our silly, smart and sweet momma how much we loved her all the time. Geez, I even have a darn theme song for the woman and my sister has a pet name for her. We are, as weird as it sounds, fortunate to be left with such gaping holes in our hearts.

One glitch, though...a 'funeral' with sad songs and sad people did not align with our mom's spirit. It was wholly counterintuitive to the woman we were honoring. It was just plain wrong. And Guntersville totally supported our every wish and whim. So we held a "Celebration of Life" ceremony and "after party." Yep, mid-week my sister and I pulled ourselves together, put the kleenex down, trashed the the jeans and t-shirts we'd been wearing for days, scrubbed-up, dolled-up and did right by our momma. I even pulled out the pearls.

There was no funeral home. There was a nice sanctuary and then a great big room with big speakers, food and lots of sunlight. There was no sorrowful music. There was mom's favorite music of Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Van Morrison and many more.  There wasn't talk of regrets, there were funny stories. And, of course, the Pastor was a rockin' female (you go girl!).

My sister, who has never looked more beautiful and has never made me more proud gave a moving eulogy. She'll never know how much she radiated, but mom does. My eulogy was a bit spirited as I used some fun props to weave together the story of mom's myriad, amazing attributes. Oh, and we gave out custom-made CDs of her favorite songs along with her favorite candy (she was a sugar junkie and loved Kit Kat bars). I did ask attendees not to eat in church.

So everyone left with good stories, good food and goodies. As the photos prove, we had MUCH more laughing than crying. Mission accomplished, momma.

I am so scared that I'll leave people out that I've decided not to link to anybody but I need to let EVERYONE who has commented, called, e-mailed, sent cards, sent e-cards, sent poems, sent flowers, wrote poems, wrote posts, sent heart-wrenching stories of how they've overcome grief, reached out to me for the first time ever and prayed for me and my sister know: We Thank You. We are overcome, humbled and lifted by you. Believe it. I will be replying to each and every outreach; I just need some time so that I can properly reflect and honor each of you,too.

If anyone has any question as to whether or not these online relationships are real, please just point them my way--I'll happily set them straight :-).

Because he's just too good a person to say anything, I need to say it. I've now met and hung out with Mack Collier for several days as he was part of the team (he has to be so sick of me!). I can now verify with 99.999% 100% accuracy that he is truly just that fine a person. Mack basically put his freelance work, blogging and life on-hold to be there for my family for the better part of last week.

He downloaded and burned all the songs for my mom's CD (for hours upon hours on a dial-up connection!), helped my sister and I pack the entire place and is storing stuff for us. Folks, he did it because he's a personal friend but he also did it because he could be there for our entire community being he lives close enough to my mom's town.

And then Drew McLellan and Gavin Heaton sent a whirlwind my way which has moved me so much that I really can't put words to my level of gratitude and awe. They have started an eBook initiative (which you great bloggers should take part in!) and the writers have decided to dedicate it to my mom. According to them "As you can imagine...many of your friends have already signed-on to write a chapter. So it felt right to make this community and conversation-focused book be dedicated to the woman who obviously taught you your values of community, listening, loving and bringing others into the conversations." I closed my eulogy on that gem.

While I'm all done packing my mom's place and it feels like a degree of relief I've never known, a VERY real thought occurred to me on the plane today while I was finally resting my weary eyes: a HUGE percentage of that "stuff" I just packed in Alabama is about to hit my little, already-busting-out-of-its-seams, New York City apartment...come Tuesday. Oy. No, double oy. I don't know why I didn't really think about it while I was packing (I did have a lot on my mind at the time).

So between unpacking and getting back to my patient, supportive clients my blogging will need to be a bit slow for a while; please be patient with me during April (it's been a hell of a month and I've got a heck of a lot more mourning left in me). That said, this blogger and bookstress is down...but far from out. Marketing reporting and clubs with cool books will resume as soon as possible--much shorter posts, too.

With as much gratitude as the world will hold (and then some),

- CK

P.S.: I hope everyone has a great Easter/Passover/etc. My sister and I were delighted that, among the many projects on her kitchen table, mom was putting together our Easter Baskets. Yep, pastel-colored plastic Easter eggs filled with jelly beans, hershey kisses and peanut butter cups. Yum. Every year, even at this age, we still got Easter baskets from mom...and fortunately for us, this year was no different ;-).

Pics:

• Top pic is me (duh), my mom's best friend Ruth Bevis (whom we've now adopted) and my beautiful sister Melissa. Ruth did not leave my mom's side in the ICU while Melissa and I flew to get to her.
• Second pic is of me (duh) and the rockin' female Pastor Ann Lawrence and her husband Frank (who also rocks). Ann and Frank also did not leave my mom's bedside while we were traveling to get to her.
• Third from top is me (duh) and Mack Collier (whom I've verified rocks as much as we all knew he did).
• Fourth pic is a lot of mom's high school and college classmates who had such fun stories to tell of the many activities and clubs she was involved in (apparently my mom had much more energy than me).
• Fifth pic is Melissa and her best friend Jacky who mom loved so much. He came in from New Orleans to celebrate Mom, help pack mom's place and support us.

Update: To view the "many faces" of my magnificent momma, just go here (it's worth the trip, she's quite a beauty!).

Getting through the near term.

I've been hesitating on whether or not to post on this but while I have a precious few moments to myself it occurred to me that many of my friends who won't be hearing from me read my blog and need to know what has happened. I also have many e-mails that will go unanswered so it's just more efficient to point people to the blog (instead of having people think I'm ignoring them).

Last Friday, about twenty minutes after seeing a show in the city I got a call. A friend of my mother's told me that my mother was found in her apartment without a pulse with multiple head traumas and was being flown via helicopter to a neurological center. Five minutes later, the ICU Doctor called to inform me that my mother had bleeding on the brain, suffered an inoperable hematoma and was brain dead--and may make it 12-24 hours more. He had to be quick because he needed quick answers.

Since mom is single, her two daughters are the only ones that doctors can legally speak with and I needed to get to Alabama from New York City as soon as possible if I wanted to see her alive...but that I would need to immediately make the decision whether or not to resuscitate her should she flat-line while I was en route.

From that moment it was a mad dash across three planes and just working to keep my sanity so as to be there for my mom. I won't go deep into the devastation I feel. Mom officially passed right after midnight on Sunday. But mom was gone well before they stopped the life support.

From what we can piece together it appears that she fell forward and hit her head on some furniture and then got up--but still dizzy from the fall--and fell backwards, hitting the area next to her brain stem. She lives alone so some of her friends who had plans with her that day became worried and, finally, after several hours urged the police to break in.

The doctors warned me how bad a shape she was in and how badly she looked due to her head injuries and all the tubes. But I didn't truly understand until I sat with her. The thing is, the injuries didn't affect me so much as how "vacant" she was. For those of you who know me, I'm a real momma's girl. Sure, she gave me life. But it's mom who gave me my personality, energy and my positive nature. Point is, my mom is anything but vacant.

Dealing with such a sudden death is really two-fold; the overwhelming grief that drains any of your energy coupled with the overwhelming number of items you need to get done that require SO MUCH energy like planning a funeral, filing death certificates, writing eulogies, writing obituaries, contacting zillions of people, packing up a house and settling an estate.

While I've cried more than I thought humanly possible in 48 hours, I don't think I'll be able to start processing this devastation until I'm freed of all these things people keep throwing my way to handle. It will never be will never be right that she fell twice (she would be here if she only fell once) and it will never be right that she left me 30 years too early--she was only 64, the women in my family have a history of living well into our 90s.

I need to thank the many good friends that have made it possible for me to still be breathing...the strangers on planes who were so kind to me while I wept uncontrollably...my mother's community here who have been like family...and all of you who are so good to me all the time. I'm not sure when I'll be back at home, back to work or back to blogging. I really have only two goals: to honor my mother and to get through the near-term.

Update (04.07.07): The way we honored my magnificent momma is right here. My sister and I cannot thank you enough for the outpouring of emotion...you have humbled and lifted us. I will get back to everyone to honor each of you, too. Please just be patient with me.

Update (04.10.07): The way that YOU fine folks honored  my great mom through a charity initiative is right here.

Update (04.12.07): A book I've found helpful in understanding and dealing with grief is detailed right here.

Update (04.16.07): The most healing grieving practice I've found--and the greatest legacy from my mom--is right here.

Update (04.28.07): What I've gained (well, what I've lost) through this experience is right here.

Update (05.11.07): To see my Mother's Day dedication (and many wonderful pics and stories): go right here.

Update (05.26.07): To see the "momma tree" that bloggers dedicated and planted in NYC just go here (AMAZING act of kindness!).