"It's about Joy that comes out of Sorrow"

I've had this one line from Billy Joel's song All About Soul stuck in my head for weeks now. Mainly because it was the song that my cousin Sarah danced with her father at her wedding in June. This song has a pretty big significance to them as it is the song that reminds my uncle of my Aunt Ann. And listening to the lyrics closely I know exactly why.

She waits for me at night, she waits for me in silence
She gives me all her tenderness and takes away my pain
And so far she hasn't run, though I swear she's had her moments
She still believes in miracles while others cry in vain

 

It's all about soul
It's all about faith and a deeper devotion
It's all about soul
'Cause under the love it is a stronger emotion

She's got to be strong
'Cause so many things getting out of control
Should drive her away, so why does she stay?
It's all about soul

 

She turns to me sometimes and she asks me what I'm dreaming
And I realize I must have gone a million miles away
And I ask her how she knew to reach out for me at that moment
And she smiles because it's understood there are no words to say

 

It's all about soul
It's all about knowing what someone is feeling
The woman's got soul
The power of love and the power of healing

This life isn't fair
It's gonna get dark, it's gonna get cold
You gotta get tough but that ain't enough
It's all about soul

It's all about soul
Yes, it is
It's all about soul

 

There are people who have lost every trace of human kindness
There are many who have fallen, there are some who still survive
As she comes to me at night and she tells me her desires
And she gives me all the love I need to keep my faith alive

 

It's all about soul
It's all about joy that comes out of sorrow
It's all about soul
Who's standing now, who's standing tomorrow

You've got to be hard
As hard as the rock in that old rock 'n' roll
But that's only part, you know in your heart
It's all about soul

It's all about soul
Yes, it is
All about soul
Yes, it is
All about soul
Yes, it is
It's all about soul

 

 

In the weeks following her death, I've been listening to this song on repeat wanting to be close to her. And I almost always end up in tears by the last refrain. It captures every aspect of her personality--her selflessness, her strength when all seemed lost, her endless hope. And now I think about my cousin's dance with her father, while my aunt watched on a monitor from home via Skype--none of them knowing she'd only be with us for 4 more days.

 

But it's that one line that I've been stuck on relentlessly.

 

Because I've been looking for the joy that comes out of sorrow for awhile now. Waiting for something great to come out of this awful summer my family has been stuck in. Something to have made all the sorrow we've experienced in such a small period of time worth it in the end.

 

And I thought the easiest form of joy would come with the birth of my sister's new baby.

 

But the joy didn't come easy.

 

My sister gave birth to my nephew, Owen Robert at 7:53 AM on August 11th via C-Section. He was beautiful--looking just like his big sister Maggie--big, and we thought healthy. After the doctors took him back to examine him closer around 8am, my sister did not see him again for nearly 12 hours.

 

Something was wrong.

 

But no one would tell any of us what or allow us to see him. My sister was hysterical and beyond exhaustion, all she wanted was to see her baby and know what was wrong. My brother-in-law was hounding the nurses in the NICU and calling the doctor every hour. It was mass chaos and we all tried to keep our spirits ups for sake of my sister--but we were all worried.

 

Around 9pm, the doctor called and told my sister that Owen was going to be taken to CHOP for further testing. There seemed to be a defect in his heart, and he went blue twice while the nurses attempted to feed him. They also believed a syndrome was involved as his head was a little large, his ears very small, and his arms short. Naturally, we were all terrified of the implications of this and my sister basically had to be sedated.

 

For the last week, my family has been splitting our time between CHOP and taking care of my 11month old niece. We'd switch twice a day, making sure one of us was always at the hospital while another was home with Maggie. It was hectic and we still had no answers---test after test was done, with no results. Everyone was diagnosing him--the worst was the possibility he could be blind and death.

 

We all just prayed to Aunt Ann and Pop. Asking them both to protect him.

 

By the end of the week we had an official diagnosis; Owen has DiGeorge Syndrome. Here's the main issues associated with it:

1. congenital heart disease
2. learning disabilities
3. problems with speech and swallowing due to a vascular ring in the throat
4. susceptible to infection due to a low T-Cell count
5. small ears 

Finally having a diagnosis put us all at ease. No more wondering or worrying. But the reality set in--Owen was going to be different and would need a lot of attention and work. Having just one child with this issue is a lot, but also having an 11-month old who is just learning to walk makes the situation a little more precarious. My sister and brother-in-law were going to have their hands full.

 

But after the dust settled, we realized Owen was born into a loving and supportive family, where he would thrive and grow to the best of his ability. We would all band together and do anything they needed to make life easier. That the best and only hospital in the country to have an entire wing devoted to DiGeorge Syndrome was at CHOP, and Owen would have a team of doctors to help him as he grows. We would not take this diagnosis as a set-back, but a reason to keep fighting. We'd love him even more.

 

And that's where I found it.

 

Owen Robert.
Our joy that came out of sorrow.

Where did the Summer go?

The summer is flying by. I looked at my planner this morning and couldn't believe it's August 7th already. No, I haven't been avoiding calendars or have been living on a deserted island for the last two months with no concept of time. It literally just hit me this morning--as I sat down at my computer for work, and decided to write this blog instead--that the summer is almost over. Labor Day, the official end of the summer season, is three weeks away.

What the heck happened summer?

Regardless of the fact that the East Coast has had maybe.....3 weeks of truly summer hot days in this entire three month period and it's rained almost twice a week, it just hasn't felt like a true summer. And yes, I've done summery things that I haven't touched on in this blog--gone to the shore a few times, swam in a pool, worn flip-flops and shorts, took a vacation with my sisters to Florida (and FINALLY Disney World), and got pretty wicked sun-burn on multiple occasions.

 

But it's been different.

And recalling all that has happened this summer, I'm not too surprised. Made me realize why the summer flew by.

Thinking about how extreme things got the past weeks makes me exhausted. My life literally flip-flopped between extreme pain, to extreme joy and then back again. Summer started with a blind-sided breakup and my aunt's cancer coming back, then to my cousin pushing up her wedding and marrying the man of her dreams in time for her mother to see it, then my aunt passed, I had my first editing session with my editor for my new project, and Pop got sick and then passed a week later. And over the next few weeks I have more joys and sorrows coming--my other cousin is getting married on Saturday, without my aunt there to see it. My sister is giving birth to her second child on Monday, and Pop will never meet his second great-grandchild.

 

I really feel like I'm on one of those teeter-totters we played on as kids. Once you get down to safety and security, you're kicked back off into the air. Almost like I'm looking for the next tragedy in life, and I can't keep my guard down.

But I guess what this summer has taught me is that that's life; we weeble and wooble between the extremes in emotion. That from great pain can come great joy, it's just a matter of finding it. Life isn't always smooth and easy, but giving in to grief and sadness isn't the way to live. We need to take the bad with the good, and just remember peace will eventually come.

I can't wait til this summer is over, to be honest. I want to get to that peace and move on.

A summer I can't wait to end, but one I will never forget.

"Top of the World Ma"

It's hard for me to think about how crazy and devastating the last month of my life has been. My Aunt passed on June 17th, after succumbing to her 8 year battle with cancer. She was in so much pain, and truly wasn't living a life. I'll miss her terribly, but I have some consolation in knowing that she is no longer in pain and finally at peace.

Then last week Pop died.

I've written about my paternal grandfather quite a bit--he's the subject of my first book as well. And his death was a complete shock. Yes, he was 91 but up until a month ago he was perfectly healthy. He was hospitalized for about a week--because he had stopped eating and fell while at my aunt's. But he seemed ok. He was even combative in the hospital--he punched out a nurse, and had to be sedated so he wouldn't pull out his IV's. Now I know that sounds extreme, but if you knew Pop you wouldn't be surprised. He is not the type of person who liked being told what to do and what he couldn't do.

They brought him home last Monday, and he finally seemed at ease. He settled down and slept--and never really came out of it. Almost like he knew this was his time, that this is how he wanted to go out--at home, with his family around him, no prolonged suffering or life in a wheelchair. And that's what happened. He slipped away on July 2nd.

The loss was tremendous. I got the call while in work, and I don't know how I was able to drive home. The next few days passed in a blur. People came and went, and we prepared for the funeral.

My grandmother asked me to give the Eulogy. I was honored she asked.
Here is the speech I gave on Monday:

 

On November 4^th 1922, a baby boy was born to Joseph and Mary Steinmetz of North Philadelphia. He would be their fourth boy and last baby. He was big, had bright blue eyes and the beginnings of a mischievous grin. He completed their family in every way. With three older brothers, he was always the butt of every joke, the tag-along play-mate, and the punching-bag. He constantly tried to win his brothers attention and respect. He was a show-off and excelled in almost everything he did. He played baseball in the spring, football in the fall, and boxed with his father every Saturday morning. He was a happy kid and his future seemed bright.

But life changed, as it did for many young boys, on December 7^th 1941.

Pearl Harbor. He was 19.

For five years, I’ve had the privilege of being the official autobiographer of Robert J. Steinmetz Sr. But for 28 years, I’ve had the bigger honor of being his granddaughter.

I’ve been asked a lot over the years about the beginnings of Pop’s book; what my process was, and how I was able to get him to tell me his stories. My answer has always been the same—I don’t really know, but it was always the same. I’d show up at my grandparents house in North Wales by late morning, I’d setup my tape recorder and writing materials, Pop would promptly offer me a shot of whiskey—which I never accepted but he always took for me—we’d sit down and Pop would start to talk. Usually for hours at a time, Pop would tell me story after story—going in chronological order according to a list he had from the War Department of everywhere he was in the Pacific. Usually by the end, he was hoarse and my fingers were numb from writing. It was truly astounding that he remembered so much. 70 years had gone by, but for him it could have been yesterday. He remembered everything. Names of his shipmates, and ships he saw, exact dates and events, what he was doing, specifics on what he welded and how bad the damage was, the emotions of the moment. Everything. He teared up quite a few times, recalling the deaths of friends or how hopeless the situation seemed to be. Other times he’d start a story by saying “Now I know I can tell you this because you’re older”—which I loved. I don’t think either of us wanted our “Book Dates” to end and he was always anxious and excited to set our next meeting. I got to know him in a way that every grandchild should.

I will remember those moments for the rest of my life.

Steiny was one of the youngest on his ship but he ran it like he was a seasoned veteran. He fought through 7 major invasions, saw the worst parts of humanity and war, but he never gave up. He never gave up on life and worked hard every day to get home. He was proud of all he did for his country. I asked him once if he had any regrets, he smiled and said “Regrets? Nah. I was born to beat the Japanese. That’s what these hands were made for.”

 

He found his manhood at sea, but his proudest moments he created in Philadelphia. These people sitting in front of me were his biggest achievement. To his children—Bee Bop Bobby and Jane, Lynny-Pie and Rick, Ween, Bake and Lisa—he was Daddy. No matter how tired he was from working long hours at PGW, he always made time to play with his children. He taught his sons the important things in life—that hardwork is paramount, and the only way to do something is to do it right the first time—and showered his daughters with affection and love. To his grandchildren—Carolina Moon, Wabe, Fire Engine Megan and Bob, Tweetybird, Crackers, Kitty-Cat Katie, AC Moore Lizzy, PeeWee, Cole Cole, Freihofer and his Prize Maggie Jane—he was Pop Pop. He had a special relationship with each and every one of us. He played games, pulled practical jokes, and gave us memories to last a lifetime. He sat us on his lap at 3 and let us drive his car, popped a cigars in my mouth at 5 and told me to take a puff, and gave me my first drink of beer at 8.

And to his wife Marion. His Mag. The love of his life. His anchor. The air he breathed. He told me he fell in love with her the moment he saw her—at the PGW Christmas Party. He chased her for weeks until she finally went on a date with him. Within 3 months, he had bought a ring. He spent the next 61 years at her side, and I’m pretty sure he fell more in love with her every day. The way he looked at her when she walked in a room always gave me chills. He loved you Mom-Mom. He spent his life loving you and still does.

What else can I say about Bob Steinmetz? He liked his whiskey straight and his beer cold. He put butter on everything and loved his sweets. He loved Casablanca and Yankee Doodle Dandy. He had movie star good-looks. He had a wicked sense of humor and a hearty laugh that I can still hear in my head. He was known to take 2 hour long baths because he loved it so much. He worked hard, but played harder—his antics are that of legend. He was a die-hard Philadelphia sports fan—especially the Phillies and Eagles, even when they were awful. He played baseball until he was 75. He loved going to the VFW. There was nothing he didn’t know how to fix. He loved when we all got together for holidays and never wanted the party to end—“Hey what you leavin’ for! We just started” he’d say. He was stubborn and could be pig-headed, but what German isn’t? He loved life and lived every second to its fullest. A moment was never wasted.

He was everything to us.

Thank you for the memories Pop. Thank you for your love and being here for 91 wonderful years. We love you.

“Top of the World Ma!”

My heart grieves for both Aunt Ann and Pop. I'm not sure I will ever be the same. But I think I'm stronger having gone through this back to back. It's made me a different person. It's made me appreciate my family more and try and live my life to the fullest--as they both had done.

Trying

I've been trying to write this post for a week now. Have started, stopped, deleted everything, thought really hard, broke down and cried, screamed, and tried to write again. I guess I'm a little afraid to put the words out there quite yet. That writing them down will make it more real and that this all just isn't some awful dream. And maybe I've fooled myself into thinking that, because it still doesn't seem real.

That she's not gone.

But I know I have to get it out. I have to write about her, even if its hard.

On Tuesday, June 17th heaven gained another angel. My aunt Ann succumbed to her 8 year battle with cancer. She fought hard--the doctors gave her a year after her first diagnosis--and she beat it for so long. We all believed and had high hopes--she always got better, always. But this time her body could take no more. She's finally at peace and feels no more pain. My uncle called us in time to say goodbye and I was able to kiss her and smooth her hair across her face, take one last smell of her to remember her perfume, hold her hand, and whisper in her ear to wait for me. She looked beautiful.

It was one of the most painful yet beautiful moments of my life. One I will never forget.

I think of her everyday. Wish I could talk to her everyday. I'm  worried she's lonely without us,  and wonder if she's still hovering around. Sometimes, I pray that she is. It gives me a little comfort that I'm not alone.

I just loved her so much. And I don't think this hole in my heart will ever be filled.

I'm uncomfortable with one word, that my mother uttered the other night and I felt the pain all over again. I literally told my mom "Please don't use that word." The word is the reality, but I refuse to use it. Say anything else. Say "Passed on." Or "Gone to a better place." Anything but that one ugly word that sends my heart spiraling. Again, words have power to me. Saying it makes it more real.

I hate it.

And I miss her.

Please pray for me and my family.
Especially Ann Ford.

Flags of My Grandfather

February 23, 1945
Iwo Jima

It had been hours since our day started, and hours still probably lay ahead. The work was unending and exhausting. --I was pulled in every direction, barely had time to turn off my torch before the next disaster struck. In fact, my welding torch was blistered into my hand, after hours of holding it steady and never putting it down. It was now part of my hand.

But I walked the gangway between a destroyer and the Gear, with the legs of a 90-year old man. I had a few minutes reprieve--a mandate reprieve from the Captain-- to grab some grub and take a breath. Then it was right back to it. Just fifteen minutes, I thought as my feet landed back on the Gear's deck. I grabbed the sandwich handed to me by the Mess Crew, who had set up a make-shift kitchen on deck and were giving sandwiches and hot coffee to the whole crew. Most took the food and dropped to their knees right where they stood--everyone was feeling the strains of the day. I walked back to the guardrail of the Gear and sat up against it; looking at the island, for the first time in hours, looming ahead.

To the puffs of smoke, ash and cinder that enveloped the beaches.

The work was hard and backbreaking, but in that moment I was relieve to be sitting where I was and not on the hazardous beaches of Iwo Jima.


We arrived first to Iwo, towing a broken-down destroyer of Marines. It was hours before the fleet showed up, and we were already hard at work getting the hunk-of-shit we hauled up and moving. We were invading, everyone knew it. The Marines surrounding me were set to storm the beaches at a moments command, As I moved among them, I saw the looks on their faces--the adrenaline building, the excitement of a major battle, the fear as they looked towards Iwo. I could see the gears turning in their brains, that they knew death, victory or both lay ahead for each of them and they were powerless against it. That their lives were no longer their own, but forfeit to a bigger cause. To freedom and all they left at home. Young boys, turned into machines of war, for the sake and love of their country.

It almost made me angry.

I had to looks away from them and concentrate on the metal and mechanical issues that sit in front of me. Looking back, staring too long only made the guilt worse. That I may be the rat of the Naval fleet, but they were the pigs sent to slaughter..

I blocked out the chaos and worked. Just kept working.

Hours later, the fleet arrived and order were given.

"Give 'em hell! Fire every round you got. Kill every last one of those Jap scum! Make them remember this day! Make them regret ever fuckin' with America! This is what we've trained for. We are Marines!" I heard a Commander scream.

"HOORAH" was the overwhelming response. Arms raised in salute, boots stomps and screams of excitement echoes. The energy was contagious and the fear seemed to drift away. Then the chaos of movement started towards the landing crafts and over the side of ship. I stood up from what I was doing and watched them go over the side and on to their destinies; whatever they may be. I said a silent prayer as I watched the last man leave.

The entire fleet was doing the same.

The invasion began, as I stood from afar watching the whole thing. The landing crafts docked and the Marines jumped into the ocean and waded ashore. At least they tried. Bullets rained down on them from the waiting enemy. The tide turned red with blood, and the wind hissed with the sound of sailing bullets. Heads jerked and arms flailed as the bullets found homes. They dropped beneath the raising waters, never to stand back up.

It was a massacre. The screams were almost unbearable.

Still they raged on and fought their way to the beach; the ones who survived the first onslaught. Most dropped to their bellies and army-crawled to the dunes and safety. A few stagnant breaths was all they could take before they were ordered to push forward and into enemy territory. Tommy-guns and heavy artillery were set up, and let lose on the enemy. Grenades, heavy rounds and fire bombs exploded on every inch of the beach, turning up the ashy landscape and covering the island in a huge haze of smoke. And once it started, there was no stopping. There was no distinguishing where the rounds were coming from and whose side was where. It was complete chaos.

And I stood on a broken destroyer, powerless to it all. Looking out at the destruction and death around me, I doubted our victory. I doubted everything.  

How can we win this? How?


And now I sat on the Gear, waiting for what came next. For the surrender? For the victory? Hours had passed and the battle seemed to have slowed. But still we had no way of knowing which way it all went. Our radio was silenced during the battle, so we just had to wait for a sign. I choked down my sandwich--it scrapped against my throat like sandpaper and hit my stomach like a ton of bricks. I put my head between my knees and closed my eyes; I needed to pretend I was somewhere else, somewhere safe and away from all this.

Then I heard the roar of cheers.

And the blaring of ship horns.

My head snapped up and I jumped to my feet. Everyone else had done the same and were darting to the other side of the Gear. I pushed my way to the front and saw it. I saw the flag. The American flag, with its blue and white stripes and stars flapping in the wind, being raised on the beach of Iwo Jima by Marines. And the waiting fleet reacted with cheers and "HOORAH".

It was the sign I needed.

"We're going to win this war," I said aloud.

And it was the first time I knew it.

*This is a story my grandfather recently told me, that is not included in my book. I thought it was appropriate given the holiday. Hug a veteran this weekend; thank them for their service*

*Click Here for a copy of my book*

Trolling the Internet for Love Advice

Today I was trolling the internets, as I do in most of my spare time at work, and I found this little diddy. I thought I'd share, as it seemed to speak to me directly

15 Hard-Won Lessons You Can Only Learn From a Break-up

1. "A relationship involves two people. I used to put all the responsibility on myself whenever something would go wrong. When her actions would hurt me, I'd think about myself and what I could have done better. In the end, I stayed in that relationship way too long."
2. "I learned to always keep my money separate and to have a backup plan."
3. "Never settle. Love is a verb. People are who they are. Don't expect them to change."
4. "Your happiness and validation come from within. Relying on one person in order to feel happy is unhealthy for both parties involved."
5. "I learned to cultivate me -- my interests, my hobbies -- and let the hobbies and interests I once shared with my ex fall to the wayside. I learned my own strength."
6. "I learned that loving someone and loving the idea of being with someone are two very different things."
7. "It's a big ocean with many fish. You'll find someone else. The heart is resilient."
8. "Once you've broken up, cut all ties with that person. Delete them from Facebook, delete their phone number and send their email and text to a spam folder. Stay away from them and you'll move on quicker."
9. "Always read the signs and be aware of the red flags. They are there flashing and waving if you just pay attention."
10. "I am worth more than what I accepted from the person I loved. I can make myself happy."
11. "Don't even think about falling in love again if your self-esteem is zapped post-split. Heal and love yourself first, then look for love again."
12. "Being unattached is way better than being in an unhappy or unfulfilling relationship."
13. "Get your stuff before you break up."
14. "Your wellness is more important than the relationship."
15. "The pain does go away even though it seems so hard to believe in the beginning."

The link is here if you want to read the whole thing.

And for all you out there in the blog-osphere who are slightly worried about me after my last few posts, my heart is on the mend. I've realized that the issue in our relationship and its demise was him, not me. I did everything right in that relationship and he is looking for a perfection that he will never get. I've come to realize he thinks he is better than me and our relationship was sub-par to his standards. I deserve more. And he will never be satisfied with what is right in front of him, or be happy for that matter.

But me, on the other hand, I will be happy. And I'm getting there.

Without him.

It Still Hurts

I wish it didn't.
Wish and pray with all my heart
That I was made of stronger stuff
And could bounce back like rubber.
But I feel so lost and alone.

The memories are what keep me crying.

Remembering the things we did and planned.
Your sneaky grin as you walked by
After you lightly hit my butt.
The butterflies that filled me when we kissed.
Laying next to you and how you pulled me in.
How you always seemed to know what I was thinking
Before I said a word; knew every whim or need.
Playing boardgames or reading in bed.
Planning a future we both seemed to want.

The first time I wanted us to last forever.

But you say it wasn't real.
That you were pretending and can't anymore.
That you're done with this "limbo" and
Have no room for me in your life.
That I'm not worthy of your time and
"There's not easy way to do this."
That I'm not important anymore and
You want your stuff back.

But for me it was so real.

My feelings can't go away overnight.
I can't just pretend the last few months didn't happen
And that it meant nothing to me.
I can't smile and pretend I've moved on when
Everyday I hope you'll call and take it back.
That I think about you all the time.

I hate it.

I wish this would go away and
I could feel whole again.
That my heart is back in my chest
Instead of torn to pieces and thrown away.
I was happy and unaware of any of your feelings
And I guess that's what hurts the most.
That I didn't see this coming.

I miss you.
And I wish I didn't.