peace and gratitude

I had a really sweet day today, sad and lonely at first, the mind busy with thoughts about what could be better. I cried some and took a long nap, and that was nourishing. Then I talked with a friend who is in The Work, and I got to see how if I will treat myself like a dear loved one, there is peace, and gratitude. I like my company, I'm easy (for me) to get along with, we like all the same music and food! So the rest of the day was delightful, I walked by the river, cooked some yummy food, and enjoyed the peace that was so deeply and readily available.

I am continually amazed by the transformations that are available with the simple process of questioning stressful thinking. I say it's simple. It is that, and lasting change is also a long process in my experience. It is the undoing of generations of thought. I started this process in 2003, and often wish it was moving along faster with it's evolution in me, but hey, that's just another stressful thought!! I am grateful for this tool that rocks my world.

What I know is when I'm hurting, I'm believing something that isn't true for me. It can be a puzzle to figure out what it is, but once I get to it, always peace, space, aliveness returns, and I am so grateful.

Happy Solstice and Merry Christmas!

Tara

Over and out

I just want to let you all know that I am not writing much these days. I'm struggling with feeling sad, lonely, overwhelmed much of the time. I am working, caring for Cameron, our home, spending time with friends. All that goes pretty well, the sadness comes and goes but isn't everpresent anymore. Sometimes I'm just a person for a while and I'm grateful for that. But home alone, I'm not doing so well. I have experienced depression before, and feel close to that at times.

I am doing what I know to do, or as much of it as I can muster. Some of the simple things, like walking every day seem too hard, or too exposed, vulnerable. I've always gotten through times like this before and I know I will get through this too. I am planning to do more of The Work with a skilled facilitator beginning in the new year. In the past that has bouyed me, freed me of the oppressiveness of overwhelm and sadness.

I also know lots of people are struggling, this time of year with the holidays and lack of sunlight can be hard of many of us. And I have so much to be grateful for, I feel sad that I'm not more aware of it, but then that's just more sadness! Uggh. It does feel circular, and tough to reverse the downward trend. I am doing what I can, and holding some trust that the next thing will indeed come and I will be here for it.

I also decided to write privately now when I do write, as much of it involves other people and that isn't fair to post on the internet.

So, much love. Thank you for your support during the last months of David's life, it was an amazing time of heart-cracked-open and I love that kind of availability to one another. Thanks too for your love for him, or me, always, and for being yourself in the world. We really are all in this together.

If you want to reach me at some point, my email is tarademere@gmail.com. Phone is 207-338-9999.

Over and out.

Tara

Celebration of Life

Hi All,

I started this post 6 days ago. Then I went back to work, and have been busy getting the house back together after a weekend of company. I was having trouble putting the order of service on here, and I see now that that there is still some error with the print size. I am going to publish it anyway, and when I have time, I'll come back and try to shift it around.

Meanwhile, here are some thoughts about the service. More to come.

The service yesterday was amazing! David would have loved it. We even danced at the end, as hard as that was to do without him. Seth and Tyler received a thunderous applause from the crowd, and Chrissy reminded us how excited David was a year ago announcing "My boys have made a CD!!!"

At some point I'll have some photos of the service, and hopefully a link to the recording of it, but for now, here's the order of service with lyrics to the songs. Many friends and family shared stories and I will include mine here, at the end.

Sorry the service is a bit messy, it didn't copy well here as you will see.

love, Tara

In Loving Memory David Stuart Demeré April 18, 1959 – November 1, 2010

David Demeré Memorial Celebration Saturday, November 20, 2010 11:00 AM at First Church in Belfast

Music for Gathering

Sound of Bells

Opening Words and Lighting of the Chalice

Hymn of Invocation Spirit of Life words and music by Carolyn McDade

Spirit of Life, come unto me. Sing in my heart all the stirrings of compassion. Blow in the wind, rise in the sea; move in the hand, giving life the shape of justice. Roots hold me close; wings set me free Spirit of Life, come to me, come to me.

Musical Interlude Give Yourself to Love words and music by Kate Wolf

Time for Remembrance

Seth Yentes

Andrew Baker

The Clements Family

Family and Friends

Musical Interlude Gaelic Mantra by Dorothy H. Robson

All is Impermanent

The Diamond That Cuts Through Delusion

Hymn Let it Be a Dance

Summation and Benediction Bell sound

Postlude Lord of the Dance (repeat)

Guided Meditation

Musical Interlude Tapestry text by William Blake, music by Audrey Snyder

Memorial Eko

Silent Meditation

Service Led by Rev. ShinKai Bonnie Versboncoeur Ministers: Rev. Mary Wellemeyer, Rev. Charles Demeré

Choir of Unitarian Universalist Church of Belfast, Led by Lila Nation Piano: Clayton Clemetson, Lila Nation

Vocal Trio: “Skylark” Paula Roberts, Chrissy Fowler, Molly Lebel Vocal Solo: Howard Sawyer

Reception organized by Chris LeGore and volunteers from the Unitarian Universalist Church of Belfast

Contradance with Chrissy Fowler and “Whiffletree” Seth Yentes and Tyler Demeré

Give Yourself to Love Words and Music by Kate Wolf

Kind friends all gathered 'round, there's something I would say: That what brings us together here has blessed us all today. Love has made a circle that holds us all inside; Where strangers are as family, loneliness can't hide.

You must give yourself to love if love is what you're after; Open up your hearts to the tears and laughter, And give yourself to love, give yourself to love.

I've walked these mountains in the rain and learned to love the wind; I've been up before the sunrise to watch the day begin. I always knew I'd find you, though I never did know how; Like sunshine on a cloudy day, you stand before me now.

So give yourself to love if love is what you're after; Open up your hearts to the tears and laughter, And give yourself to love, give yourself to love.

Love is born in fire; it's planted like a seed. Love can't give you everything, but it gives you what you need. And love comes when you're ready, love comes when you're afraid; It'll be your greatest teacher, the best friend you have made. So give yourself to love if love is what you're after; Open up your hearts to the tears and laughter, And give yourself to love, give yourself to love.

Let it Be a Dance Words and Music by Ric Masten Chorus: Let it be a dance we do. May I have this dance with you? Through the good times and the bad times, too, Let it be a dance. Let a dancing song be heard. Play the music, say the words, and fill the sky with sailing birds, Let it be a dance. Let it be a dance, let it be a dance! Learn to follow, learn to lead, feel the rhythm, fill the need to reap the harvest plant the seed, Let it be a dance! Chorus Everybody turn and spin, let your body learn to bend, and, like a willow with the wind, Let it be a dance. Let it be a dance, let it be a dance! A child is born, the old must die; a time for joy, a time to cry. Take it as it passes by. Let it be a dance. Chorus Morning star comes out at night; without the dark there is no light. If nothing's wrong, then nothing's right. Let it be a dance. Let it be a dance. Let it be a dance. Let the sun shine, let it rain share the laughter, bear the pain, and round and round we go again, Let it be a dance.

Lord of the Dance words revised for this occasion by Buck Sawyer I danced in the morning when the world was begun. I danced in the Moon & the Stars & the Sun. I came from Heaven & I danced on Earth. In a wondrous world I had my birth: Chorus: Dance then, wherever you may be I am the Lord of the Dance, said He! And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be And I'll lead you all in the Dance, said He! I sang in the mountains and danced by the sea I played my drum so you could join with me. The music of life is a joy to share. And now my song is everywhere. Chorus I set my course and dance like the wind For peace and joy I will twirl and spin My heart is light and my step is strong. I bless you all with love and song Chorus

Thank you for being here today, and thank you all so much for loving David these 7 1/2 years. And particularly, thank you to everyone who helped to make these last weeks with David amazing! Your support made a bitter time, bittersweet instead.

One rainy summer night on the corner of Main Street and High, here in Belfast, David and I were walking, and we heard music coming from under a canopy. The beat was good so David took my hand and started doing the classic partner dance moves that I loved so much to do with him. I remember I was wearing a long flowy blue dress that soon became totally soaked and stuck to my skin. Yet on we went, whirling, beaming, loving our town, the band, these bodies for enabling such bliss, and each other for the willingness to dance like this!

In addition to how much fun David was to dance and play and explore the world with, he also had this amazing capability to move closer when things got hard. He would look me in the eye, take a step toward me with his heart wide open, and say "ok, yeah, what else?" And he would stay and listen and love and listen and love, until whatever I was upset about dissolved into so much appreciation for him, and for life.

Simultaneously, David and I shared the practice of not necessarily believing we were right, or that everything we thought was true. It was amazing to know we would support each other this way, and it was fabulous fun for me sharing naturally this level of humble self-inquiry with David.

As a result, I have a healed heart. After loving and being loved by David these 2 1/2 years, for the first time in my life, I have a full, whole, healed heart. This is one of the gifts that David gave to me.

Perhaps I got to love David as his most free, evolved self. I feel lucky that way. Certainly we struggled with the daily task of getting along with another human being. And we both were conscious of trying to be easy on ourselves and each other. This did not come naturally, but we were willing to try again and again to grow in this way. Cancer treatment was intense, even brutal at times, but David persevered courageously through it all, and I got to witness and support him in that. For me, as hard as it was, I know this whole thing was something that happened for me, instead of to me.

David was my love, my husband, my friend. He valued marriage and the commitments that go with it, in the same way that he valued full engagement with life at every level. I am so grateful that he shared a piece of his life with me. Tara

burial photos

At long last here are these photos. It was quite a magical day. These are from three cameras. It is a bit of a production to get the photos from email to blog and set up so they make sense, and I just haven't been up to it till now. Hope it gives a sense of things. Seth and Tyler did a phenomenal job of both the work to make the coffin and clear the burial site, and also to hold the space for everyone to be welcomed and to honor and grieve together. To be on their farm with their horses to bury David was incredibly special to many people. And Lucretia was there, walking to the site with her 4 day old baby boy. She's in the photo with Jonathan and the shovels, and Anna is in the last photo with Ada and Seth. Busy day with shovels. Most everyone took part. It was a powerful recognition of just exactly what we were doing there. I've decided to include Joanne's Moesswilde's poem from this day because with it, the whole story is here.

november 3 2010

gather on cool sunny november morning
at house where he lived and died.
body in boat box is carried to black van by sons and friends.
long, slow drive away from the sea to the farmland of the sons .
brown leaves rain down on us as we drive on this sunny cool morning.
boat box moved from van to
hay wagon
and there, one son hammers each nail to seal the lid of the boat box with the man's body inside of it. all watching. bells chiming.
on the hay wagon
pulled by 2 beautiful, black draft horses,
the boat box rides.
down the road,
into the field,
along the river. bells chiming.
with mother, father, wife, sons, daughter, grandbabies, friends following.
the ground is brown
the sun shines,
the air cool, clear.
the boat box now carried by hands of friends and family up a hill above the river,
to the clearing made just yesterday by the sons. bells chiming.
we all gather by the hole;

nearby the boat box now rests. bells chiming
the boat box waits by the hole
for all the blessings and goodbyes and tears. bells chiming.
as the blessings are said,
the leaves rain down through the sunny, bare trees
with sweet words spoken. bells chiming.
singing bells chime over and over again as a soothing mantra that holds us all, each one.
words are spoken that bring tears to listeners and speakers alike as the sun warms us all.
oak leaves cushion our feet. bells chiming
blessings, words of friendship, poems and songs frame the setting and hold each soul
as we wait for mother earth to take him back. bells chiming.
strong sons lower father, husband, son, grandfather, friend
into the hand dug hole. bells chiming.
a son puts the first shovel of earth into the hole that now holds the boat box, saying goodbye. bells chiming.
the father and the mother and another son and a daughter and the all friends and many of the children put shovels of dirt in the hole. bells chiming.
we all say good bye, one by one, with a bit of soil. bells chiming.
all join in to bury the boat box with the man's body inside of it. bells chiming.
bury it in the ground under 6 ft of rich soil under oak trees and sun and birds and wind. bells chiming.
every shovel-ful takes us another step away from him.
some danced on the grave to pack it down
soil mounded higher and higher, just so.
sticks mark the corners. bells chiming
soon a stone will mark the place. bells chiming

the bells stop.
the people disperse, some to a big oak tree down by the river,
the children lead to the tree, they are ready to move on.
one climbs high
then back down
then we all run thru oak woods to catch a ride back home
on the hay wagon.
one less among us now.

Potluck and dance details, new location: the First Church

A memorial service and celebration of David Demere’s life will be held next Saturday, November 20^th at 11:00 at the First Church in Belfast, 8 Court Street. There will be a potluck luncheon immediately after the service, followed by a contra dance. David’s sons Seth and Tyler will provide the music, with Chrissy Fowler calling the dances. This was all carefully planned by David, who wanted to be sure that his service included joyfulness and dancing in community.

The UU Church is organizing the potluck luncheon. In David’s spirit, we encourage people to consider hearty dishes made with local foods, if possible.* Mini-quiches and easy to eat items are welcomed too, as some folks will likely be sitting, and others milling around snacking. Please email Chris LeGore (legore@maine.edu) for ideas on what to bring, or to let her know what dish you are making, so we can be sure to have a good variety of foods for David’s celebration. Dishes can be dropped off before the service in the upstairs Parish Hall, or in the fellowship hall immediately behind the sanctuary. Please arrive a few minutes early if you are bringing food so the food organizers can join us in the service. Hot things can be kept warm in an oven, and there is room for crockpots to be plugged in.

If you are traveling a long way, or not able to bring food, that's fine. There will be plenty, so please join us for lunch.

* If you make a dish without dairy, wheat, beef or corn, please label it as such, so that Tara and Cameron can enjoy your dish.

Thanks all!! See you Saturday!

marking firsts

My 14 year old son Cameron had a day off from school Wednesday, so we set out to do some errands. He likes to play loud rock-n-roll in the car and I find that sometimes I can't handle it, and other times I like it. This day I was enjoying bouncing around in my seat and singing along. Cameron sings too and that's 1/2 the fun for me, hearing him sing. We went to Olympia Sport hoping to find basketball shoes, but nothing fit quite right. Then to Aubuchon Hardware for some potting soil. We walked in and spotted a woman who works there who I've spoken to frequently over the past 4 years. I did a lot of renovating when I first purchased City Point house and Aubuchon was my friend. However what came to me this visit was a conversation I had with her at some point when I must have told her about David and she shared that her husband had died of cancer when her son was a teenager. I remember she said it was hard, but ultimately a gift for her son, to know that life does not go on forever, and is indeed a gift that's here right now. I didn't tell her about David's passing. I just smiled and said thank you and left. As I got to the exit door, I remembered another woman who works there, the owner's wife, who told me she had lymphoma, a cancer similar to David's, that had been controlled with medication for more than 5 years. We talked about how horrible it was to have to depend on chemotherapy (poison) drugs to keep away something that would otherwise kill her. She is the mom of a young child and was grateful for every extra month and year that the drugs had bought her. But I could hear the toll the illness had taken on her family and her marriage. I remembered this all in a flash, and as I released the door from my hand, I realized I haven't seen her in a while. I wonder if she is even alive?

The next stop was the credit union, and I walked in aware that this was my fist time in since David's passing. I realize I'm marking firsts. First time since David died that I saw the view of the bay coming into town on Rt 3. First time taking a walk down the railroad tracks. First time seeing our wedding spot. First time talking with our challenging neighbors without him. First time eating dinner with his parents, just the three of us. And first time to the bank.

I went to a cashier I dont' know well, but spotted a woman who knows David, and who set up Cameron's savings account this past year. She didn't look at me, but came out through the door to greet me up on this side of the counter. She came over quietly and slowly with her heart and her eyes wide open. and I started to cry right there in the bank. She said "I'm so sorry, Tara." I've never hugged her before but I was very glad to hug her now. I said "I miss him so much," and the tears rolled down my face. I asked how she knew and she said she saw it on the computer. I didn't know if that meant she's reading the blog, or had seen the obituary, but I didn't care. It was powerful to have it acknowledged, and I cried in her arms, for my husband, for the women at Aubuchon, and for all the people I don't know but who know this pain.

Later I talked with a friend who shared that she had just attended the funeral of a 5 day old baby. The umbilical chord had ruptured during the birth and the baby had lost a lot of blood and been on life support from the start. The parents, my friend said, seemed to be in a place of deep acceptance that this was as long as this child needed to be here. I don't know where that kind of deep acceptance comes from, but I do wonder about it.

I have watched David's mother, Margaret, caring for David, sitting with him, holding his hand, reading to him, doing her best to give her son the gift of self-forgiveness in his last days. I can't imagine what that has been like for her, this boy she's loved for 51 years, plus the time when he was in her belly, and now she's asked to say goodbye.

I had a birthday Thursday, November 11. My son and his schooled friends had the day off and a couple of them and their moms spent the night. Cameron's homeschooled friends joined us as well, and we played outside, worked in the gardens, had a bonfire of old decking, and began to erect a privacy fence on one border of the property. The sun shone brightly all day and I was grateful for that. In the evening I went to dinner with two friends and they sang me "Happy Continuation Day." It's a Buddhist point to not call it birth, because that perpetuates the myth, the lie even, that there is a beginning and an end to life. Instead the Buddhists believe that life did not begin with birth and does not end with death, but continues on from form to formlessness, form to formlessness. There is something entirely peaceful about this for me. I can find where I believe David is ok. And I wonder what to do about the waves of sadness and loneliness that come so frequently. Today I mostly just let them roll. I talked with friends during the day, and tonight I made a few phone calls hoping to connect. No one was available, so I sat in "feeling crappy". For awile. Then I decided to watch a movie, send an email or two, and now I'm here, having made it through another day post David's death, and I'm ok. I do wonder, if we are evolving as beings, then one day perhaps knowing the perfection of things will come naturally instead of being a learned experience requiring concientious effort, as it seems to be for me now.

more thoughts on grief

I went to the Belfast Coop a few days after David died, just for a few apples, and was shocked by what happened there. I walked in the door, a woman I didn't know came running at me, wrapped her arms around me saying sadly "I've been thinking about you so much!" I mumbled a bit about the hard and the sweet of it all. I found my apples and got in line where I was approached by a man I know, but had forgotten had lost his wife 6 yrs or so before I arrived in Belfast 4 1/2 yrs ago. He said "I've wanted to talk with you but I just can't. It's too hard, it's too close." He could hardly look me in the eye. I said "That's ok" but I could tell he wanted something else, a resolution to this pain, perhaps. I wanted to talk with him, share a bit, see if some of the comfort I have felt would be available to him. But not now, it's too close for me too, right now. I paid for my apples, headed for the door, and was face to face with a woman with whom my last conversation had been a painful one. That seemed to be gone for her, but was alive in me. She said "I'm so sorry." and some other things. I mumbled some more about the good in it too, and that seemed to be painful for her to hear. I hadn't been prepared for this, for other people's grieving. I had the thought "I'm not doing this well." I glanced behind me and there was Flic, our Hospice coordinator for the county and our friend. "I'm making this worse," I thought.

Later David's dad Charles told me that in some cultures there is a week-long at home grieving period, and wondered if I wanted to do that. Too late!! And Yes! I also realize that if I had gone out with the awareness that my whole community is grieving, and everyone in their own way, that would have helped. Now I am prepared to breathe, say "mmmm", and "thankyou". This suggestion isn't in the hospice pamphlet, but I think it should be.

Then this poem arrived and it is so fitting, I want to share it with you.

There should be some silence in this place so thought can harvest things it's lately caught. I hope that you will take this as a resting space. A bench provided just before the clearing up ahead.

Rest here, be foolish, not merely lady, gent. Be a little useless for a time. Turn around and chase your tail. Roll on your back, paws up and out. Rub up against me as you pass. My old leg is sturdy and as good a scratching place as yonder tree. Lap the day up in my lap. Inhale the earth. Suck in my breath. And breathe it back to me in ways I have forgotten.

Arms around me these past years have not been commonplace, your comfort passed to me from out there, somewhere - dare we call it outer space, has kept me safe. Your thought embraces better than the memory's triumph over time. I have longed for you, thought up songs for you, missed and mourned you as the times passed past. Here you are. Brought back to me by your wish mixed with mine. Noise cannot touch us here. I will try and make for you the calmest place there is within this loud and getting louder world.

No map to help us find the tranquil flat lands, clearings calm, fields without mean fences. Rolling down the other side of life our compass is the sureness of ourselves. Time may make us rugged, ragged round the edges, but know and understand that love is still the safest place to land.

Rod McKuen, April, 1998