Thursday, August 13, 2009

Preparing for the funeral--- or life tribute

Going in and out between sadness and disbelief. My sister just informed me, that my grandmother , although still alive will be passing on friday. She is only hanging on by machines.
She will be buried next week in a cemetary in LA and my grandfather who passed 25 years ago will be flown from chicago to LA, so they can be buried together.

The last time I saw my grandmother it was her 95th birthday and she was filled with life. She was dancing as she always did whenever a tune she liked came on. I was not in LA this week to witness the changing of my lively grandmother into a vegetable. My mother told me not to come and to remember her how she was. I only got to say goodbye to her on the phone. My 5 year old daughter held my hand as I told Beauty i loved her. Sofia excitedly interrupted my phone conversation to tell Beauty how lucky she was because she was going to go live with the fairies.

Sofia my daughter is only a little bit older then I was, when I gave Beauty her name. One night when i was leaving beauty's house she said :good bye my little beauty" , and I thought that was her name ,so I continued to call her Beauty. The name stuck and became contagious. She was Beauty to all that knew her.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009


How do we adopt to change, when life changes quicker then we are ready to change? How does one embrace letting go, and what does saying goodbye really mean.

This is big week for me, in terms of letting go, and learning how to use my pain for motivation rather then retreat.

One of my friends said to me this morning, how necessary the mourning process is. Whether it is loss of a relationship, a loved one, (or for my son, the loss of one lego piece that will totally impact his whole project.) Every loss is valid.

If we don’t take the time to cherish what we are letting go of, honor what we loved, and remember how it has helped us, we will not allow ourselves to truly be alive in the present. And the present is just that, a present.

Many people are asking me why this blog is called growing up with fat dad, when I have not even addressed weight and food yet (It will come)

I grew up with a dad who was fat. He was fat because he did not know how to nourish himself and because he did not know how to nourish himself, he surely could not nourish anyone else.

We never had food in my house, because my dad might eat it, so we lived on diet soda and frozen meals. I was always hungry. My dad was consumed with himself and his fluctuating weight. My mother was young and not a homebody or a nurturer. I was always hungry. Hungry for food, hungry for nice clean clothes, hungry for someone to notice when I ran away from home and hid in the closet for hours, just hungry… Hungry for someone to care for me because I was a child and I needed to be cared for. But On Friday nights I was never hungry.

On Friday nights my grandfather would pick me up for the weekend and when we would get to my grandparent’s home, there was always homemade vegetable soup, raisin challah bread, a warm bubble bath, and a fluffy clean hand washed beautiful lavender smelling nightgown. It was at my grandmother’s home, where I learned what true nourishment is. It is where my tears were dried.

The smells of fresh cooked food, kind loving words, a freshly drawn bath and a beautiful lavender smelling nightgown would battle any feelings of deprivation. My grandmother taught me how good it feels to be cared for, and how to feel compassion, for the ones who cant love us back.

As a mom I struggle with trying to physically provide my children with all the luxuries I would like to give them, and protect them from ever feeling pain, but at the end of the day, all I can do is let them know how much they are loved, dry their tears, and fill their plates with the best organic foods. As a mom I don’t ever want my children’s stomachs to grumble.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

More about Beauty—my Grandmother

I have never written a blog before, or vented my feelings publicly. I am not sure if I am bogging to share my story, share my sadness, or to connect with other like-minded people.
My grandmother is in the hospital dying, and I feel a great sense of loss and sadness. With that said, if I let myself fall into that despair I would definitely not be a honoring her life, or helping her to find the peace that she deserves to pass.
At 95, my grandmother Beauty was never old, never sick and never anything short of being dressed to walk the “red carpet”. Beauty avoided being around people who complained about their aches, their pains, and their woes. She tried to surround herself with children, and people much younger then herself, who had a zest for life.
She loved Vera the violinist, Phyllis her bossy daughter who kept her on the move 24-7, Glen, her zen like son, who would let her eat anything she wanted, April her other grand daughter who could sing better then Barbara Streisand, Genie her gorgeous and talented sister, who she believed could do anything, her great grandchildren, Dylan Sofia and Sean, and mostly she loved me, and would so hate to see me sad.
In writing this, I am trying to honor her life, and keep myself focused. Her dream was for me to be on the Oprah show and share my plays and stories. And while this Blog is not the Oprah show and her hospital bed is not the studio audience, perhaps it is a place for me to write about what matters most.
I will end this blog with this quote: “It is not the number of breaths we take but the number of moments that take our breath away.”

Beauty 94 years young -2008


You will be the light in my heart that is always there.
You will be the voice that whispers, someone cares.
You will be the spirit that carries me through the fright.
And the encouragements that will help me, turn dark to light.
You are in my kitchen when I cook, and the inspiration for my book.
I hope you hear me talking to you each day, as your voice has helped me to lead the way.
When I was little, you called me your little beauty; and in turn I named you,
You touched every one you ever met. Your spirit and fancy hats no one will ever forgot.
You danced and smiled till the end, I hope papa is waiting for you when you descend.
You called me your hero but you were mine. You are the light inside that makes me shine.
I love you
Dawn—(your little beauty)