Category Archives: Love and Loss

July 21, 2026 · 12:38 pm

Grave Matters

It’s inevitable—we’ll all die. Sometime. We just hope that it’s not too soon, or at least I hope that. As Jim Morrison of the Doors once famously remarked, “No one here gets out alive,” and I don’t think any truer words could’ve ever been spoken.

Regardless of how logical this statement appears to be and how it would seemingly inspire preparedness, few of us actually act upon it by choosing to prearrange our own funerals/memorials. It makes perfect sense to do so, though, because it lessens the toll that a death takes on our families—both financial and emotional. The burden placed upon loved ones is undeniable in that deep in the midst of grief, dozens upon dozens of snap decisions must be made following such an unfortunate event. I didn’t even know if my parents wanted to be cremated and had to rely on guessing—because we never talked about it face to face. It wasn’t spelled out in their wills so I had little to go on. My mother-in-law, by contrast, had every minute detail planned down to which specific hymns were included in her service. She wore a pink dress as I recall—one that our twins, who were only six at the time, placed tissues inside its sleeves, because Grandma would never be without tissues. At any rate, I give her a lot of credit for taking so much off our plates by planning ahead.

So, after a great deal of discussion, debate and pure angst, I finally convinced my husband to take the necessary steps to prearrange our ceremonies. To say that it was a tall order is an understatement. I practically had to drag him to the funeral home. Truth be told, it was hard for both of us. No one likes to think about dying and what will happen in the aftermath. It’s certainly not a popular topic, at least not in the conversations I’ve been known to hold. It forced us to think about and answer questions neither one of us had ever before considered. Like what type of box did we want our ashes to be displayed in? I had no idea. Neither did he. Also, which particular flower would we prefer to adorn said box? Again, I was clueless. My husband loves snapdragons because he has a habit of making them “sing” at funerals. Macabre, I know. I love tiger lilies, but would it remind me of the sad fact that the deer in our neighborhood habitually devour the tiger lilies in my lawn, thereby making everyone even sadder? In the end, I decided that it really didn’t matter. Because I’d be dead.

Then there was the whole obituary undertaking—an insufferable writing task that made us both beyond uncomfortable. I mean who wants to do that? It’s nearly impossible to jot down what was notable and decidedly significant in the span of a life—an accounting of one’s entire existence in just a handful of words. It’s a humbling experience to say the least. I discovered that it’s difficult to choose what to include and what not to include. I tried to think of what might be meaningful for people to read—what might those I knew like to learn about me.

What’s more, since the obituaries have been written for the most part, our kids won’t have to deal with that or decisions about gravesites or tombstones since my husband and I have decided to have our ashes placed in our church columbarium—alongside some people we truly adored. So, there won’t be any trudging to the cemetery in all sorts of weather, or feeling obliged to place flowers there on holidays or any other time. Nor will our kids struggle with choosing our burial clothing. We came into this world naked—and we’ll go out naked.

Thankfully, this whole process was made simpler by our Preneed Counselor, Stephanie, at Maneval Allen Redmond Funeral Home. She walked us through some really difficult topics and advised us how to proceed in the preplanning of our ceremonies with both competence and compassion. Fortunately, there are a host of wonderful funeral homes in the Williamsport area that specialize in preplanning. Maneval is one of many.

Now that that is handled, we can get on with life and place our grave matters behind us.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (facing the inevitable). Visit me there at www.Facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

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Filed under Love and Loss, The Chicken Man

Tagged as death, family, funeral, grief, life, marriage, marriage humor, memorial, passing away, preplanning, writing

June 16, 2026 · 12:00 pm

Good Grief

My parents’ estates have long since been settled, but over the years I’ve found that I’m still tethered to my past—not only because of the memories I hold dear, but because the tangible possessions I inherited help me connect to those memories in a very positive and concrete way. Perhaps a good type of grief, triggered by remembrance.

I can still envision just where the antique prints, mostly of children and their pets, were situated in our ranch-style house. I never thought much about the paintings growing up, but I now see why my mom was so drawn to children as subjects. She was a third-grade teacher for most of her career and, of course, loved kids. She had so many paintings that they were almost too numerous to count, let alone hang on available wall space. I sold the majority to an antique dealer in town, but kept a handful—my favorites—to place in my own home. I don’t think there’s a day that I refrain from noticing a new, small detail in the artwork, one that I somehow hadn’t before and I now understand what attracted her to each individual print.

Likewise, the furniture I received is special in so many ways. As I run my hands over the primitive oak, mahogany and yellow pine pieces I instantly return to my life growing up in my parents’ household. I remember which dishes were housed in which cabinets and kick myself for not keeping those, too. They were so pretty. At least I salvaged some of the earthy, old crocks and decorative trinkets, my parents’ dressers that were handmade by my great-grandfather and the tiny wooden cabinet I played with when I was a child—one that is inundated with a cache of vintage, metal dishes that my cousins (as well as my mother) played with, too. Moreover, I kept a pair of Adirondack chairs that we had gifted to my parents years ago—chairs that they lounged in as they watched the deer gather in their front yard on many a summer’s evening. Never mind that the paint is fading and the wood has seen better days.

And I can’t forget the massive hutch my mom picked up for me at an antique sale—the one that boasts four doors, five shelves and its original metal latches. Together we painted it on a sweltering summer day in the shade of our carport. She chose the color—a glorious shade of forest green that now complements my rustic kitchen décor. Who knew it would one day be wedged perfectly between our windows that overlook the front lawn?

What’s more, I can’t forget the cozy, faux leather chair my brother and I somehow crammed ourselves into—together with our dog—while watching entirely too much Bugs Bunny and Tom and Jerry. My husband and I had to have the chair reupholstered once it wore out because I just couldn’t part with such a tangible reminder of my past—especially since my brother is no longer here to reminisce with. A generous sampling of his décor now adorns my kitchen countertops and the aforementioned hutch, too, and I can’t help but recall how they once looked in his house. The wicker basket he used for incoming mail. The beautiful canisters of colorful pasta. The crock full of old wooden spoons he collected.

I think he’d be happy that I’ve placed them prominently.

And then there’s the car—my mom’s black BMW coupe. I loved that car and surmise that she loved it, too. I truly hated to part with it, but had to trade it in eventually because the Blue Book value kept inching downward with each passing year. I drove it for close to nine years, never once becoming involved in a fender bender, thankfully. Frankly, I don’t think I ever felt so comfortable behind the wheel (before or since). It just fit me as if it knew me—like it was cradling my body. It fit my mom apparently, too, which is probably why she kept it so long. I sometimes scroll through my photos to find her car—pictures I took just before I traded it in—in an effort to say goodbye, or hello, to Mom. I zoom in to the photos to remember the details, its sleek design, its undeniable beauty—and I smile.

Sometimes the grief we experience is the good kind of grief—remembering what was, (and as they say) smiling because it happened.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (probably smiling). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

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Filed under "N" is for Nostalgia, Family Affair, Gratitude, Love and Loss, Love and Other Drugs

Tagged as estate settling, family, grief, inheritance, keepsakes, love, Love and Loss, memories, remembrance

May 5, 2026 · 12:11 pm

Adulting, Mostly

My husband and I are empty nesters and have been for the past seven years or so. Our twin daughters are on their own now and navigating through life quite well for the most part. They’ve managed to graduate from college, secure jobs and find decent apartments after a lengthy search process. Never mind that one lives two hours away while the other one is SIX STATES away.

And although they’re undeniably independent, they still need us to some degree, which makes my heart happy. On more than one occasion, they’ve needed financial advice or assistance, which isn’t all that surprising given where they are in life. I’ve certainly been in their shoes and needed a bailout from one crisis or another—like the time my car broke down when I lived in metro DC and it cost more to tow and repair it than it was worth. Living paycheck to paycheck didn’t allow for many contingency plans as I soon discovered. It’s true; everyone wants to be grown up until the responsibilities of being grown up are decidedly overwhelming.

Among other things, our kids have experienced a fair amount of car trouble since they moved away—everything from leaky tires and engine lights coming on to securing a clamshell on the roof and locking keys inside the car (not once but twice). We couldn’t physically solve the problems, of course, but we could offer boatloads of guidance and moral support over the phone. Sometimes just knowing someone is there listening to one’s unhinged tirade is worth more than the effort it takes to overcome the difficulty.

Likewise, we’ve been there to bear witness to gripes and grumbles over career politics and policies, becoming a sounding board for perceived injustices and bouts of self-doubt. As for the latter, I think everyone on the planet has been crippled by self-doubt at one time or another. As parents, we’re here to quell those fears. I think that’s our job anyway—that and teaching them how to tie their shoes and operate power tools without losing a finger.

What’s more, our kids have requested our assistance when it comes to cooking on occasion. Sometimes it’s as simple as reciting or sending a photo of a recipe. Other times, we FaceTime and walk them through to completion, because we learned to make it from memory and not a recipe. Nothing feels quite as good as the sense of accomplishment (we both experience) when the food turns out perfectly, even though I am 1,463 miles away and I can only imagine how good the kitchen smells.

And who knew we’d become furniture assembly and delivery experts? Not I. But we show up—with hammers, drills and Gorilla Tape, ready to build and haul whatever they ask us to. I’ll never forget the time we improvised using the aforementioned duct tape to secure the slats on a certain someone’s bed. Knock on wood, it’s still holding.

We’re also there (in spirit) to comfort our kids when they get sick. We can’t bring them hot soup while they’re burrowed beneath a mountain of blankets on our couch, but we can offer advice on how to be well again. I think this might be one of the hardest parts of parenting—or long-distance parenting, more correctly. I never thought that convincing them to see a doctor or go to the ER would be that difficult, but it truly is.

I’ll admit that I sometimes find myself wandering into what used to be their nursery and sitting in the rocking chair that’s still there. Apparently, my husband does this, too. As I look around the room I can envision just where their cribs were situated and remember the countless hours I spent there trying like crazy to get them to sleep, lying on the floor, one arm threaded through the wooden crib spindles, patting this one or that one’s bottom. I remember reading aloud books at bedtime, too. SO many books. There was a time that I could recite Goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are entirely from memory, using voices that pleased a crowd of two.

Once again, it felt good to be needed when they were small—although it was an exhausting affair by all accounts. Here’s hoping that I continue to be needed—even if it’s from afar.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (celebrating our daughters who are adulting, mostly). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

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Filed under Gratitude, Growing Pains, Leaving the Nest, Love and Loss, motherhood, Mushy Stuff

Tagged as adulting, growing pains, independence, Leaving the Nest, life, life lessons, love, parenting

April 14, 2026 · 1:25 pm

I’m with the Band

Since our kids abandoned us and went off to college, my husband and I really miss the noise in our household. Sounds almost inconceivable, but it’s true. They had friends over frequently and we miss their noise, too. Really, we do—because they were delightful. There were countless Halloween parties, marching band sectional get-togethers, musical cast gatherings and just ordinary meetups for snacks and shenanigans around our kitchen island and sprawled across our back deck. I remember a veritable din of music and laughter emanating from what can only be described as a small herd of high schoolers, and I remember wishing it would never end.

I pine for the kids, of course, but mostly it’s the music they created that I long to hear once more. To say that our home was filled with music is an understatement, largely because of the encouragement and tutelage of Aegina and Bobby Leidhecker, Amanda Haney, Lee Saville-Iksic, Donna Elkin, Miki Rebeck, Ryan Bulgarelli, Jared Whitford, Meg McQue and Dr. William Ciabattari. Our twins ended up being music education majors so someone was always singing or playing an instrument at all hours throughout their middle and high school years. I’ll never forget witnessing them playing a riff from “Smoke on the Water” as fifth graders in the middle of our kitchen floor. Seriously. That happened.

My favorites of all time, though, were listening to the French horn as well as vocals accompanied by the strums of a ukelele. I’m sad to say that part of me took this beautiful soundtrack of our lives for granted. Somehow, I thought it would always be there, a constant in the background. Now the house is quiet, and they’re off on their own in the world, adulting, mostly.

Since the “free concerts” we’ve enjoyed inside our house have been egregiously discontinued, my husband and I have had to settle for the next best thing—attending concerts outside the house. Of course, this isn’t exactly a new thing for us, but it’s something we’ve certainly done more of lately. We’ve seen everything from Brahms Requiem at Carnegie Hall, the Philadelphia Orchestra, the Williamsport Symphony Orchestra and Uptown Music Collective to Tom Petty, B.B. King, Smokey Robinson, Fleetwood Mac, the Stones and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. Needless to say, we’re music appreciators and we have eclectic taste.

And although we continue to enjoy a variety of music, our priorities have changed somewhat over the years. Earplugs are more important than ever and if we forget them, we wad up tissues and jam them into our ears. Decades ago, we never would have dreamed of doing that. The louder, the better was our motto. Never mind that we couldn’t hear for three days. And now that we’re suffering the consequences of our own actions, we regret not taking better care of our precious ears. I remember distinctly watching an overhead light shatter and fall to the floor during an Alice Cooper concert because it was DEAFENING. And almost without fail, I can feel the music resonating deep within my chest even if it’s not rock ‘n’ roll.

Another change we’ve observed is that we’re not necessarily the youngsters attending anymore. Sometimes we’re smack in the middle of the pack, while other times we’re surrounded by throngs of people who likely color their grays and carry AARP cards. Nevertheless, and no matter the age, it proves once again that music is the great uniter.

That said, we met some lovely people who sat near us at a Collective Soul concert recently and remarked how similar our taste in music was. What’s amusing is how I ended up there in the F. M. Kirby Center on a Tuesday night in the first place. It’s because I held a grudge. For 30 years. I know it’s juvenile, but I couldn’t help myself. You see, my husband invited some friends’ teenage son (who was a musician himself and slightly obsessed with the band) to see them perform in their heyday over 30 years ago. I, of course, was also slightly obsessed with the band, but did not score tickets. Hence, the grudge.

Lo and behold, my husband redeemed himself by gifting me tickets to see the very same band, albeit three whole decades later. Better late than never, I guess.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (probably listening to music of some kind). Visit me there at www.Facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.

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Filed under Family Affair, Gratitude, Leaving the Nest, Love and Loss, music, Rock Me Like a Hurricane, The Natives are Decidedly Restless

Tagged as band, choir, family, home, kids, love, Love and Loss, music, music making, playing instruments, singing, teenagers, teens

March 24, 2026 · 1:39 pm

Dog Years

If we’re lucky, some of the best years of our lives are considered the best because they are spent in the company of a dog. It’s what I think of when I hear the term “dog years” anyway. It’s not how old a dog may be in terms of human aging, but instead, it’s the expanse of time we humans get to bond with, love and be loved by a dog. Important distinction.

Our family has been fortunate to have had three amazing dogs over the years. Four if you count the one we adopted for my dad who was struggling with Alzheimer’s and needed companionship. That godsend-of-a-dog, Bear, is now living out his golden years with extended family since my dad passed away over ten years ago.

Sadly, we lost all three of our dogs; two to cancer and one to kidney disease. But not before we relished their tail-wagging days with us. I even found it ironically heartwarming that Jasper, our black lab mix, made it a habit to follow me into the shower or anywhere else I happened to be going. But like anyone else, we had not-so-fun times, too. Like the occasions that resulted in irreparable damage to our windowsills, being dragged in the street by our 95-pound yellow lab/greyhound mix and the 17-year stint I spent on my hands and knees scrubbing the floors after our Bichon Frisé, Jack, indiscriminately whizzed on them. He never quite grasped the idea of asking to go outside to do his business despite a boatload of encouragement. But I’ll never forget the night we chose him from the litter, an overgrown guinea pig lying on my chest, nuzzling my neck.

We decided not to adopt another rescue dog for a myriad of reasons, chiefly because we didn’t want to say goodbye after a life that would never be long enough. But it’s not as if we’ve sworn off dogs entirely. We still interact on a daily basis with the ones that live in our neighborhood and with those we encounter in our travels if the occasion presents itself. Not surprisingly, we get our “dog fix” if we’re permitted to pet said dogs and talk to them as if they were children. They really are children—just furrier. Most of them love the extra attention, and the tasty treats my husband always carries in his pocket. If, for whatever reason, we can’t pet them, I always smile. Dogs know your smile was meant for them.

What I find funny is the fact that I’ll often remember the dogs’ names before I recall the owners’ names. And I most definitely know which dog belongs with which owner—just like my kids’ friends; I always knew which parents were connected to which kids, but I didn’t necessarily remember the adults’ names. Sorry, parents of my kids’ friends. It’s a character flaw I’m not especially proud of.

Likewise, I’m hoping the people I happen upon in the neighborhood aren’t offended because part of me is really more interested in their dog. I’ll take note if he or she has a new collar or leash, has just returned from the groomer’s or is absent from his/her human’s side. Of course, I’ll ask why the dog is missing, hoping it’s because of a fun field trip and not due to illness—or, Heaven forbid, their passing. What’s more, my husband and I try to remember to send a card expressing our condolences to the people who have recently lost a dog. I know the cards we’ve received have meant so much. Our good friend, Denny, even went so far as to gift us money so that we might buy something to memorialize our dear Luna, the aforementioned 95-pound lab/greyhound mix. Thankfully, our vet made sure we had paw prints cast in plaster of all our dogs and a nose print and tuft of fur from at least one of them—something tangible that helps us remember the ticking of their nails on the floor and the cool, wet smooshiness of their noses. I often find myself picking up the prints and rubbing my fingers in the indentations of their toe beans, memorizing every curve, recalling their warmth in my hand.

In lieu of that, I still have the trove of neighborhood dogs I pass on my walks, their fuzzy heads destined to be patted, not to mention the ones I see hanging their heads out of car windows, their pink tongues flapping in the wind, smiling broadly in the sun because they know, like I know, dog years are the very best years.

Welcome to my world. It’s where I live (probably petting a dog). Visit me there at www.facebook.com/NotesFromPlanetMom. Signed books are available on Etsy at PlanetMomMarket.