Monday, April 23, 2007
The problem I have with saying too much about my personal life is that I feel, in some way, it might be exploiting people and situations solely for the benefit of getting noticed. Since I don’t love drawing attention to myself--except when on stage, photo, interview, at a club--I can be a little vague about my life, both in and out of the blog/rock world.
My friends know that I won’t talk about big problems until I hold on to them for a while, processing and cultivating. For that reason, if any of you feel like sharing please send me a message or comment right on the blog. Do not post a comment on my main myspace page, I will delete it, even if it's sweet.
My mother is an amazing woman; I have never met anyone that has said otherwise. She’s an art teacher at an elementary school in NY, she has raised three kids virtually on her own, she’s vivacious, funny, smart, beautiful, and she lights up every room she enters.
When I was a teenager I hated her. I yelled, I cursed, I got angry when she breathed too hard or talked too loud, I told everyone that they ‘just didn’t know her’ when they told me I was crazy for my vitriolic behaviour. I was wrong, they were right. One day, around the age of 18 or 19, I realized how great she was.
Part of my frustration with her was that I always felt my stepfather stifled her, yet she always defended him. I knew she was a better woman, stronger than she thought, and worth far more than she gave herself credit for, I couldn’t understand why she didn’t demand more for herself.
I won’t go into it totally (listen to my songs and figure it out), but my stepfather and her divorced. He is a faulted person and has done many wrongs, but I think it takes up too much time and effort to hold grudges and to not forgive. He’s the father of two of my sisters, financially supported my piano lessons, acting camps, a long list of other things, and I will always love and care for him despite of it all.
There were several tumultuous years. My mom, who has only ever wanted to love and be loved unconditionally, and to have a long history with someone, was alone. She started to teach art again, and went back to school and got her masters. She did this while also caring for her kids, two of whom were in middle school, and one was….well, that was me. I was on my own in Boston, but she still gave love and took care of me. She always sent me an Easter basket and valentines chocolates, always remembered my birthday, and always made me feel like the most beautiful and talented person on the planet. Besides my sisters, of course.
About 7 years ago she met a man named Dirk Barrett, Jr. He was tall, handsome, and fiercely intelligent, had an incredibly dry sense of humour, and loved her the way she was always meant to be loved. He loved her artwork and encouraged her, told her she was smart and she believed it. He took her to the opera and art museums, took her to Italy (though it was during that freakishly hot summer) to see the David and Botticelli’s. He treated her like the modest princess that she is, or rather modest Queen. Everyone in the family knows that I’m the princess.
Dirk taught my sister Morgan to drive, and would go to my other sister Julia’s soccer games. He and his daughter, Lauren, would come to my mom’s house on almost every holiday and he’d bring amazing wines while the rest of us all helped put the food together for us to feast on. Before every big holiday meal he’d say an inspired prayer that could move even the most skeptical (like me and my boyfriend at the time), and at the end twist it so that we’d all laugh aloud.
Five years ago Dirk was diagnosed with cancer. By the time they caught it, it had already started to spread, but everyone was confident that they could maintain it for many more years to come. There were several chemo treatments; he lost his hair a few times, only to have it grow back thicker and more beautiful than the last. Throughout it all he opened his cynical heart to my mother’s love, and she opened her apprehensive heart to him.
For the first time I could look at my mother and know that she was loved, for everything that she is. She was loved. Pictures are worth a thousand words and I could see the exuberance in her eyes. It was no longer just a smile, it was life and the confidence that comes with being loved so much.
Cancer is never fair. It has taken so many unsuspecting souls that have done no wrong and are so very innocent. I remember helping my friend in the 5th grade with a blood drive held for her cousin, Jacqueline; she had leukemia and needed a bone marrow transplant. Hundreds of people came; we were all so hopeful that she would find a match, but she never did. There was nothing more unfair than seeing this toddler walk around the house, crying from pain one day and then making peace with death the next. Children should not have to make peace with death. They should be getting mud on their faces and sand in their shoes, it's what children are born to do.
How could someone that loves so much, that wants to care for someone forever, get dealt such a bad hand? How could two people that had lost faith, find each other and bring each other back to life, only for one to get taken away?
It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved it all. Yes, thanks Shakespeare; for once again twisting these tears into a life lesson that is too bittersweet to handle.
I never got to tell Dirk how much the love he gave to my mom and my family meant to me. The last time I visited, I was so sick the hospice nurse wouldn't allow me near him for fear of what a cold might do to his non-existent immune system. But I know he knows. I know he knows.
I hope he knows.
On Wednesday, April 18th 2007, at the age of 58, Dirk Barrett, Jr. passed on. His daughter, his sister, and my mother were by his side.
You came at the right time, Dirk. You were in the right place. Thank you so much for the love you gave.
My friends know that I won’t talk about big problems until I hold on to them for a while, processing and cultivating. For that reason, if any of you feel like sharing please send me a message or comment right on the blog. Do not post a comment on my main myspace page, I will delete it, even if it's sweet.
My mother is an amazing woman; I have never met anyone that has said otherwise. She’s an art teacher at an elementary school in NY, she has raised three kids virtually on her own, she’s vivacious, funny, smart, beautiful, and she lights up every room she enters.
When I was a teenager I hated her. I yelled, I cursed, I got angry when she breathed too hard or talked too loud, I told everyone that they ‘just didn’t know her’ when they told me I was crazy for my vitriolic behaviour. I was wrong, they were right. One day, around the age of 18 or 19, I realized how great she was.
Part of my frustration with her was that I always felt my stepfather stifled her, yet she always defended him. I knew she was a better woman, stronger than she thought, and worth far more than she gave herself credit for, I couldn’t understand why she didn’t demand more for herself.
I won’t go into it totally (listen to my songs and figure it out), but my stepfather and her divorced. He is a faulted person and has done many wrongs, but I think it takes up too much time and effort to hold grudges and to not forgive. He’s the father of two of my sisters, financially supported my piano lessons, acting camps, a long list of other things, and I will always love and care for him despite of it all.
There were several tumultuous years. My mom, who has only ever wanted to love and be loved unconditionally, and to have a long history with someone, was alone. She started to teach art again, and went back to school and got her masters. She did this while also caring for her kids, two of whom were in middle school, and one was….well, that was me. I was on my own in Boston, but she still gave love and took care of me. She always sent me an Easter basket and valentines chocolates, always remembered my birthday, and always made me feel like the most beautiful and talented person on the planet. Besides my sisters, of course.
About 7 years ago she met a man named Dirk Barrett, Jr. He was tall, handsome, and fiercely intelligent, had an incredibly dry sense of humour, and loved her the way she was always meant to be loved. He loved her artwork and encouraged her, told her she was smart and she believed it. He took her to the opera and art museums, took her to Italy (though it was during that freakishly hot summer) to see the David and Botticelli’s. He treated her like the modest princess that she is, or rather modest Queen. Everyone in the family knows that I’m the princess.
Dirk taught my sister Morgan to drive, and would go to my other sister Julia’s soccer games. He and his daughter, Lauren, would come to my mom’s house on almost every holiday and he’d bring amazing wines while the rest of us all helped put the food together for us to feast on. Before every big holiday meal he’d say an inspired prayer that could move even the most skeptical (like me and my boyfriend at the time), and at the end twist it so that we’d all laugh aloud.
Five years ago Dirk was diagnosed with cancer. By the time they caught it, it had already started to spread, but everyone was confident that they could maintain it for many more years to come. There were several chemo treatments; he lost his hair a few times, only to have it grow back thicker and more beautiful than the last. Throughout it all he opened his cynical heart to my mother’s love, and she opened her apprehensive heart to him.
For the first time I could look at my mother and know that she was loved, for everything that she is. She was loved. Pictures are worth a thousand words and I could see the exuberance in her eyes. It was no longer just a smile, it was life and the confidence that comes with being loved so much.
Cancer is never fair. It has taken so many unsuspecting souls that have done no wrong and are so very innocent. I remember helping my friend in the 5th grade with a blood drive held for her cousin, Jacqueline; she had leukemia and needed a bone marrow transplant. Hundreds of people came; we were all so hopeful that she would find a match, but she never did. There was nothing more unfair than seeing this toddler walk around the house, crying from pain one day and then making peace with death the next. Children should not have to make peace with death. They should be getting mud on their faces and sand in their shoes, it's what children are born to do.
How could someone that loves so much, that wants to care for someone forever, get dealt such a bad hand? How could two people that had lost faith, find each other and bring each other back to life, only for one to get taken away?
It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved it all. Yes, thanks Shakespeare; for once again twisting these tears into a life lesson that is too bittersweet to handle.
I never got to tell Dirk how much the love he gave to my mom and my family meant to me. The last time I visited, I was so sick the hospice nurse wouldn't allow me near him for fear of what a cold might do to his non-existent immune system. But I know he knows. I know he knows.
I hope he knows.
On Wednesday, April 18th 2007, at the age of 58, Dirk Barrett, Jr. passed on. His daughter, his sister, and my mother were by his side.
You came at the right time, Dirk. You were in the right place. Thank you so much for the love you gave.
posted by Sarah RabDAU at
2:50 PM
2 Comments:
Hi Sarah, I just googled my friend Dirk and the first thing listed was your blog entry. He was my best friend in high school, we worked together as lifeguards on the Jersey Shore for a couple of summers and after he graduated from Harvard we lived together for about a year and a half in an apartment in Boston. I didn't see him very often after that but as you know those high school friendships are very strong and lasting. I can't believe he's gone. Fred Clarke
Hi Sarah - This is rather late, but I only very rarely google my old boyfriends and I just found your blog.
Dirk was my high school "steady" boy friend for several years, until sometime in his second year at Harvard. He was as wonderful then as he was when you knew him later.
I think that his love for the opera started when my parents took the two of us to the Met for some special occasion. Golly, we had fun together . . .
I am at a loss for words to describe how sad I am to hear that dear sweet Dirk died and I didn't even know he was sick! I am so glad that he found such happiness with your mother.
Please give her my condolences. I know from reading your blog that he was as lovable in maturity as he was as a teen. Pam Hillenbrand Eisele
Post a Comment
<< Home