As I take my first few yarns and stretches after Christmas, I am filled with joy and appreciation for all the experiences of this year. How amazing it is to be aware of and to be in tune with one’s own gratitude and opportunity to be alive. Looking back on this year, I am humbled thinking of all the people, places, times, and experiences we’ve shared—some planned and others completely unexpected. And the thing is…I love them all:  the plan and the unplanned, the joy and the pain, the ups and the downs—for they have all been integral.

This year, as I sat in Christmas Mass, which specifically was a different kind of mass (one without pomp and circumstance, a mass for the poor where afterwards they are fed), memories of past years flood my mind…

Of course I think of my childhood and the many years of laughter with my parents, siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles, and grandparents. I think of my early adult years and the decision I made 15 years ago to not go home for Christmas; not because I didn’t love them but because adult Christmas pales in comparison to childhood ones. I thought of the many Christmas mornings I’ve spent abroad; and especially those in Honduras with Chris, Gregory, and my son Miguel. I thought of Christmas mornings when I awoke dreadfully unhappy, and those filled with unimaginable joy. When I suddenly “snapped to,” to find myself sitting in a Roman Catholic Church in, in, in…Rome…listening to mass in Latin? (no),  Italian! (close enough); nearly every cell in my body begins to vibrate.

Thankfully, there are enough similarities between Spanish and Italian that I understand the foundation of the message; and the rest I just make up (pretty fun, actually!). I marvel at the craftsmanship and the invaluable works of art in every direction I turn. I am aware that the intention is to keep parishioners in a state of uninterrupted bliss no matter where the eye drifts.

My eye drifts over at Tommi, and I smile. My eye drifts over to his family and I realize that no matter where, families are the same no matter where you go. They love, they fight, they judge, they forgive, they come home looking for themselves—and sometimes, they bring home with them the people they love, and the process repeats itself in the coming year.

At the end of mass, because Tommi’s father was the first collaborator of Mother Teresa in Rome and the person who found the house for the Sisters, we are invited back to the area where they live. In fact, I find out later that Tommi has been photographed, as a child, in the arms of Mother Teresa — but that’s a story for another blog. Again, because I don’t speak Italian, the majority of my time here in Rome is spent listening to and reading body language. If you have had a reason to be in a place where you don’t speak the language you realize what a humbling and exhausting form of communication this is. So, I shuffle along with everyone into Missionarie Della Carita, a separate part of the cathedral. There are times Rome’s beauty exhausts me. Why? Because it’s everywhere. You simply can not take it in. An analogy is to be constantly fed your favorite foods…at some point, you simply can not appreciate your gustatory feast any longer. The taste bud sensations grow weary and you bloat; and what was once savory becomes bland, ordinary, gluttony…that is until you have a spoon of sorbet.

Within a few minutes, I am told that a few feet away from where we stand is the room in which Mother Teresa slept whenever she was in Rome. My heart skips a beat. Then, without another word we shuffle into a little room where time seems to have stopped. There is the smallest of beds, a table, and lamp, and a few other meager items but I am completely spellbound to be standing in her private space. The room is so small that you could stretch out your arms and touch each side of the room. “The room,” I am told, “is kept just the way Mother used it.” I reach over and run my hand along her bed and her pillow. I begin to experience what can only be described as ecstasy. However, I try to contain myself.

Sister Mary Prema, The Mother General—the German-born Sister who has taken over the entire world-wide order since Mother Teresa’s death (who just happens to be there on this Christmas)—touches my arm and speaks to me; but I can no longer hear her. I am gone. I come back momentarily to realize that she is speaking to me in English and that I should probably pay attention in order to respond or risk her thinking that I am mute.

She hands me a medal with Mother Teresa and another with The Virgin Mary and a card with a picture of Mother Teresa upon which is written a prayer. I can no longer hold back the tears that are stinging my eyes. It must be understood that I am not Catholic. In fact, I was raised in what could be considered the opposite of Catholic. I grew up (whether consciously intended or not) with a healthy suspicion of the Catholic faith. However, as with most things, I have had opportunities to confirm whether or not my childhood beliefs were valid…which in summary means, I have found myself many times sitting in a Catholic church wondering if it could be ascertained that I didn’t belong there.

As we leave Mother’s room, The General Mother once more grabs my arm and thanks me for all the work that I am doing in the world; and that the world needs it. No kidding. She actually said those words. Without warning the tears began to pour down my face and I no longer care about how I look to those around me. Another Sister puts her hand on my forehead and gives me a blessing. I close my eyes. Ecstasy — in full bloom. I hug and kiss everyone (first left cheek and then right) and wish them, “Buon Natale!” And, somehow step out into the most beautiful courtyard I’ve ever seen. The sunlight dries the tears that stain my face. Suddenly, I can breathe again as I begin to comprehend what has just occurred.

What has occurred, I understand instinctively, is that I have just completed an important portion of my life’s journey. And, I am ready to begin a new one. I am grateful to everyone for the part each of us have played in this drama we call life. Most of all, I am grateful for myself for always having the courage to live my life by my own design. It hasn’t always been pretty, and I have certainly made lots of mistakes, but the one thing I can say is that I have lived, and that I have loved. And, for me, that’s a breakthrough!

Until next year…I don’t know when, but this is my last BreakThrough Blog until I am clear about where life leads me next. So, my friends…I’ll see you somewhere and I will most certainly continue to blog because I believe blogging has allowed me to open up to myself as well as share with you!

Happy New Year! Oh, and congratulations to Evonne Weinhaus! You made it! Thank you!!!

Use this discussion board/blog to post your insights. Read and discuss the insights of others. Go for it!

A few days ago, I walked by myself into a Roman supermarket completely cloaked in my own thoughts. What a strange sensation it has been to be in a country where I don’t speak the language. Not since I first travelled, lived, and worked in Honduras have I had this feeling of being completely on the fringe of society. Now that I speak Spanish, I suddenly remember how it felt to only understand snippets of conversation intended to convey even the most banal elements of every day life. Thankfully, the similarities between Spanish and Italian are such that I understand more than the people around me are prepared to accept (given their surprised faces and smiles when I suddenly and unexpectedly answer or contribute to the conversation).

I find myself now, as I did before, filling in the blanks with my own interpretation of what’s going on OR I entertain myself in a brief corner of my mind; and it is from this mental corner that I found myself as I walked into the supermarket.

Rome is full of food, wine, and desserts that is often followed by more food, wine, and yes…more desserts. If I listen hard enough, I can hear my moratorium on cheese simply disappear. How can someone even think of visiting Rome without eating tons of cheese, pounds of pasta, and drinking bottles and bottles of wine?! I think Julia Roberts got it right…so, as I come to the end of the first week:  Eat (check). There are times when we turn a corner and my breath is ripped, literally and figuratively, from my lungs. So overwhelming, it is, to walk along the streets that tell the story of modern civilization. This isn’t my first visit to Rome, but it is the first time I’ve seen it with such amazing and loving eyes.

My last visit still makes me laugh as I remember how my friend, Kristine and I, “lost” my passport, my desperate sprint to the car rental in search of said passport, her dumping my suitcase (underwear included) in the middle of the train station, the police demanding that she kindly repack my suitcase, our missed train to Milan—only to discover that I had it in my pocket the entire time.

And, it is with the aforementioned loving eyes that I walked into the supermarket.

I slowly and consciously chose my items. Paid for them. Exited the store. However, something caught my eye and I decided to walk in again (through a side door) to look at the rows and rows of wine. Deciding that I had had enough wine, I sauntered down the street in my reverie but suddenly I turned because I heard yelling at my back. I found that the yelling was directed at me?! I turned around, walked back at the same pace to an irate man yelling at me. I surmised it to be because he thought I had stolen something because I exited through the side door instead of the principal one. Slowly, I opened my bag, showed him my receipt, and pointed to each item in the bag and its corresponding listing on the receipt. In my halting Italian, I tell him, “Sono un uomo onesto.” He suddenly stops talking, and without another word, I turn and continue my slow gait back to the apartment.

Approximately an hour late, we sit down to eat and I suddenly remember what happened at the store. I wasn’t sure if I would tell Tommi and Chiara what happened, but I thought it would make an interesting edition to the “funny things that happened to Jaime in Rome.” They explained how my yelling grocer’s response was typically Roman. I smiled at myself and thought, “That man will be my friend before it’s said and done.” Sure, we started out in a “misunderstanding,” but I decided while he was frothing at the mouth at my suspected thievery that he deserved my patience and understanding even though he hadn’t given me the benefit of the doubt even though I was in his sights the entire time.

Sometimes, a breakthrough in generosity means withholding bitter words as they burn on your tongue. My grandmother always says, “If you see a fool and a wise man arguing on the street corner, the casual passerby can not tell which is which.” Or, as my friend Barb Klein’s recent Facebook post advises:

“Maybe you don’t like your job, maybe you didn’t get enough sleep. Well nobody likes their job, nobody got enough sleep. Maybe you just had the worst day of your life, but you know, there’s no escape, there’s no excuse, so just suck it up and be nice.”  ~ Ani Difranco

Next week? I’m working on Pray!

Use this discussion board/blog to post your insights. Read and discuss the insights of others. Go for it!

The past is but a memory. The future holds one of many possibilities. The now is gift, which is why it is called the present. The implication of the previous statements is that if you desire a breakthrough in generosity; you have to let go of all concerns about the future and past…easier said than done, right? You’re probably in an egg-nog induced haze, so while I’ve got your attention, let’s get right to it.

Let’s start with you…

So often, we spend a great deal of time either obsessively thinking about what we want to accomplish (the future), or obsessively worrying about what did or didn’t happen (the past); that we miss opportunities to give to ourselves in the moment (the present). In so doing, we literally rob ourselves of the richness of the given moment.

A breakthrough in generosity, my dears, begins and ends with you. So easy it is, during this season, to rush around purchasing, buying, accumulating that we scarcely remember the reasons why we are so occupied in the first place. Personally, I detest holiday shopping. Not because I don’t relish purchasing and exchanging gifts (actually quite the opposite) but more so because there seems to be an air of absent-mindedness wrapped around the whole of these activities…or in other words, we’re not present while buying all those presents.

Now before you tune me out, or at the risk of these words being drowned out by the latest Mariah Carey holiday CD, Oprah’s Favorite Things, or so-and-so sings the 12 Days of Christmas, I’m not advocating that we put a halt to our holiday gift buying ritual; all I’m saying is check in while you do “whatever it is” that you do. However, if you find yourself suddenly “snapping to” at the 10th cash register of the day buying something for someone you hardly know because you’re afraid to be empty-handed just in case your dry cleaners shoves a present in your hand…just stop!

What if, instead of planning to have a certain number of “just in case” gifts on hand, you allowed yourself to be present in those moments instead. So, say your dry cleaners gives you a gift, instead of feeling guilty that you hadn’t gotten her one, be present while she hands you the gift and just say, “Thank you!”

There…now go on about your merry way. And remember, the present is a gift!

Use this discussion board/blog to post your insights. Read and discuss the insights of others. Go for it!

This time of year our thoughts easily turn to giving. We think about giving to our family, friends, co-workers, and even strangers in the form of gifts, presents, or time. However, have you ever really stopped to consider your policy of generosity towards yourself? Or, come to think about it, do you have a policy of generosity that includes you?

If most of us were completely honest, we often fall last on our list. Not to say that we don’t care for ourselves, but we often find ourselves completely “vested” in a life (lifestyle) that doesn’t include even our most basic and most cherished preferences. What I mean is, stop right now and look around…what do you see? Do the things that surround you reflect you? Or, are they a monument for the “you” you want someone to believe you are? And, more importantly, how would things look if you could design them exactly the way you desired?

For years, I’ve been saying in workshops, talks, and lectures that we’ve become human doings and have completely lost the idea of the idea of being human beings. We’ve gotten completely lost in the “doing-ness” of ourselves that we hardly recognize for what all this doing-ness is about. We get up everyday and we “do” our jobs, our kids, our relationships, our routine and chores without giving much thought to the question: Exactly who is the person “doing” the “doing” that you’re doing? Do you even know anymore?

Perhaps the idea is to peel back the layers of all that doing and get back to the essence of yourself…your being-ness. Who do you have the courage to be…right now? If you were free to be anything you want, would you do it? What if you learned that this would be your last holiday season? Or, the last holiday season of someone you love (or would dare to love), would you be spending your time “doing what you’re doing?” If the answer to the question is, “NO!”…well…now we’re getting somewhere.

Creating a breakthrough in generosity means that you have to be generous (first and foremost) to yourself. You have to put your most deepest, heart-felt desires on your list. Go ahead. Put it on the list, and check it twice. Throw away the notion of being naughty or nice. Why? Because now is the time for you to be generous to you! Now…that’s what I call a breakthrough!

Use this discussion board/blog to post your insights. Read and discuss the insights of others. Go for it!

This week, the only thing I have to say is: HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

May your heart and home be filled with love and laughter.

Love,

Jaimes

This time of year always makes me feel hopeful. Strange, huh? That the leaves are changing, the weather turns crisp, and my wardrobe becomes increasingly “cuddly.” For some reason, I feel autumn more than when any other season takes center stage. Why? My thoughts turn to all the things that have occurred throughout the year. This year, especially, has been an amazing year of twists and turns. Sometimes I felt as if I was riding high. Still other times, I felt as if I had been dashed to the ground; a cast-off never heard, known, or respected. And yet…I have enjoyed this ride—immensely.

This time of year, I think about what’s to come:  Who am I? And, where am I going? I begin to think about hibernating for the winter. I feel as if I can finally exhale because the intense course I set for myself at the beginning of the year has nearly finished. That’s the state of mind I’m in today. My mood is more musical than melancholy. However, my musical notes this year have been really interesting.

This year, for the first time, I’ve begun to notice my own marginalization. What I mean is, for nearly 20 years or so, pop-culture has been directed at me (meaning: my generation). As I watched MTV’s Video Music Awards, I felt like a crotchety old man, “What did they say?” “What is that song all about?” “What’s the name of that singer…I never heard of her?” “Look at ‘em gyrating all over the stage like that!”—that’s when it hit me. My feet were firmly seated in middle-age. I’m middle-aged?! What?!

What does being middle-aged mean? Does it mean that I shake my fist and curse at the young people when their baseball lands in my yard? Does it mean that I shake my head lamenting that “nobody has no respect no mo’?!” Or, does it mean that I begin to re-define myself by my own “middle-aged” standards and ignore what the media tells me I should or shouldn’t love? I say, the latter.

One of my favorite artists of all times is Nancy Wilson. My habit, usually without thinking, is to listen to With My Lover Beside Me. This project is full of Johnny Mercer lyrics that were discovered post-mortem, brought to life by Barry Manilow. My favorite track is called “When October Goes.” I’ve seen Ms. Wilson live countless times, have met her, and was even her guest in Vegas years ago for a Mother’s Day show with Lou Rawls. Her music exists in a part of my brain that pre-dates the-You.Tube-generation; however, when I typed her name in, I found a recent entry where she spontaneously decides to sing this song. Ok, so she has clearly advanced in years; haven’t we all? So, her voice and intonation isn’t as sharp as it once was; who among us could say differently? What I am most grateful for about Nancy Wilson; and myself, is that she’s still committed to what she loves…and she’s still here!

Use this discussion board/blog to post your insights. Read and discuss the insights of others. Go for it!

Every day, in increasing measure, I am becoming aware that I have had (up until now), no idea who I was or what I really wanted. Now before you press the delete button, hear me out…

I don’t mean that I hadn’t attempted to answer these important questions of identity, I’m just sayin’ that each time I believed I knew who I was and what I wanted I found that I was wrong. Well, not so much that I was wrong, but each time I thought I had definitively answered the questions concerning who I was and where I was going I discovered (nearly every time) that my answers where just the tip of the iceberg.

“Don’t be surprised that people around you don’t seem to see you, know you, or understand you. In truth, even you are only just beginning to know WHO YOU ARE!”

~ Jaimes McNeal

The thing about icebergs is the cap visible at the water’s edge is just, as they say, “the tip of the iceberg.” The real concern is the mass that sits deep beneath the surface. So, each day in increasing measure, I have noticed that the water levels recede. As they do, more of who I am and what I want is revealed not only to me but to those around me. The beauty and the pain of this process is that sometimes as the iceberg/water ratios shift, so does our life. And with that shift comes the inevitable shift of people, places, and things. As human beings, this causes a disruption of the elaborate worlds we construct for ourselves. From a completely objective point of view, the only thing we can count on is that there is precious little that we can count on.

Gratitude describes the attitude we can adopt to process our water’s shift. As our concept of ourselves change, we are sometimes required to “redefine” ourselves in response to who we see ourselves to be now. What I want to communicate to you is to try (inasmuch as you can) to be patient with yourself as you experience these shifts that arrive unexpected and sometimes exceedingly dramatic. Try, if you can, to be patient with yourself and those whom you love because as your waters shift, so does theirs. Be grateful for the opportunity to witness more of who you are (and who they are) to come to the surface.

…and oh yeah, be careful not to assume that the latest shift is the final one. As soon as you think you know who you are, the process starts all over again. Aren’t you grateful that you know that now?

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Recently, I’ve been considering what, exactly, gratitude means to me. Is gratitude only a factor when one has a perfect, anxiety-, and worry-free life? No. Gratitude is a mature orientation toward life that seeks to make sense of the unavoidable ups-and-downs. Most people have little or no difficulty feeling grateful when life seems to “go their way”—but what about when life seems to be a series of one difficult challenge or failure after another? Where, then, is your gratitude? Consider Arthur Ashe.

One of my personal childhood heroes is Arthur Ashe. In a time during which there were few African-American personalities on the national and international stage, Ashe stood out as an incredible example of what we all could achieve. During my adolescent years, I could hardly be called an athlete, but after watching him play on television I bought myself a racquet with the earnings of a summer job and headed to the playground. I taught myself by hitting balls against the school wall when I couldn’t find a willing partner. For countless hours, I smashed that green ball against the wall attempting to perfect my forehand, backhand, slice, and service games. Although I never had aspirations of the professional circuit, hitting the ball as hard as I could was my oft-chosen therapy when things were askew at my house.

While living in New York City in my 20s, I attended several matches during the 1997 US Open in Queens. I can still remember how I vibrated while walking up the stands to take my seat with my then boyfriend, Terry. He had surprised me with tickets for several important matches, but the real surprise had to do with the fact that a few years previous he had lost his partner to AIDS. The historic importance of the particular day we found ourselves sitting center court was the stadium name change from Louis Armstrong Stadium to Arthur Ashe Stadium. I could scarcely contain myself. As the reserved tennis spectators’ hush fell into an electric reverence, we listened as Ashe’s wife spoke about his childhood, his amazing tennis career, his triumphs, his failures, and how he contracted HIV through a blood transfusion during heart surgery.

Of all the comments made that day by numerous dignitaries, the single comment that stood out as a personal mantra came from Ashe himself. His comment has sustained me all these years since. He said, “When I won at tennis…when I won at Wimbledon, I didn’t ask the ‘Why me?’ question. Why was I so blessed with tennis, a wife, a child? I did not ask ‘Why me?’ when I was so blessed, I am not going to ask it now.”

Even in my mid-20s, I remember thinking, “This man represents someone I truly admire.” I thought, “If only I could remember this when I experience my life’s challenges then his experience would not have been for naught.” Who among us has the audacity to be grateful for it all? I tell you unequivocally the answer to that question is, ME!

How about you?

Do you have the strength to be grateful for the good times and the bad? Do you recognize that you never once questioned your good fortune? Do you have the heart of a champion? Do you recognize that even though you may not be an international champion, somewhere there’s a 12-year-old watching, learning, and patterning their life based on your example?

…and the 12-year-old about whom I am referring just might be the 12-year-old YOU!

Use this discussion board/blog to post your insights. Read and discuss the insights of others. Go for it!

To be completely honest, I am thankful that we have all finally survived the month of October. I don’t know about you, but the last 31 days have been one hell of a roller-coaster ride! From beginning to end, I felt as if I had been tossed upside down, hither and yon with no clue as to if I was closer to the beginning, middle, or end of the ride. Last year, when I programmed the topics, I had no idea how amazingly accurate they would be; or simply did I live into my own creation? In any case, as I look back at each month, I can easily see my growth and development. Let’s take a look back at some of my personal favorites and highlights…

January: Breakthrough in Letting Go of Old Patterns
I completely redesigned who I was, and what I wanted.
Highlight: Here’s What I’ve Noticed So Far.

February: Breakthrough in Loving Relationships
I reconnected with my son, and began to identify what love really meant to me.
Highlight: Blogcast Episode 5 – with guest co-host Evonne Weinhaus and roundtable guest Barbara Klein as she learns how to redefine her relationship with her mother.

March: Breakthrough in Leaping into Your Future
I reconnected with important relationships from the past, and found a way to articulate the future I wanted.
Highlight: Blogcast Episode 9 – with guest co-host Toni McMurphy and roundtable guest Debbie Volmert as she courageously talks about her miscarriage.

April: Breakthrough in Financial Abundance
I found myself ready to create abundant wealth, even though there were moments in which I was confused and overwhelmed.
Highlight: Blogcast Episode 16 with guest co-host Nathalie Ekobo and roundtable guest Pamela Picard as she Reinvents 64.

May: Breakthrough in Relationship with Mother
What a complete surprise this month was! I was braced for June’s topic, but I found that there were old issues between my mother and me that were surfacing in my current-day relationships.
Highlight: Blogcast Episode 20 with guest co-host Pat Jordan and roundtable guest Linda Varadachari as she breaks through her primal wounds of being adopted.

June: Breakthrough in Relationship with Father
Though I have no “real” relationship with my father, I learned how the “non-relationship” was having a dramatic impact on my life.
Highlight: Blogcast Episode 21, without a doubt, is one of my favorite episodes. In an amazingly open dialogue, guest co-host Evonne Weinhaus and roundtable guests Adam Jurotich and his father, Matthew Jurotich created something unbelievably special.

July: Breakthrough in Moving from Co- to Independent Relationships
I had no idea the level of co-dependent relationships that existed in my life. Once I identified them, I began to move slowly into alignment with what I wanted.
Highlight: Blogcast Episode 25 with guest co-host Evonne Weinhaus and roundtable guest Melonie Roberts as she realizes that even though her husband was deceased, she was still in a co-dependent relationship.

August: Breakthrough in Having Fun
I thought that this would be an easy month, but instead, I found myself realizing just how bogged down my life had become. My friend Joanie used to say, “There’s only three reasons to do anything: Do some good. Have some fun. And, make some money! In that order!”
Highlight:  Blogcast Episode 28 with guest Wendy Watson-Hallowell, the co-author of Live a LIfe You Love and Make a Living Doing It.

September: Breakthrough in Appreciating Who You Are
I began to really recognize my talents, gift, and my rhythm as pretty unique and worthwhile.
Highlight: Moving and Shaking Up North.

So, here we are in November, and I am so completely grateful for these last 10 months. I am, now more than ever, more aware of the experiences I’ve had in my life, and what they mean. I can say, without hesitation, that each step has brought me closer to that which I desire. Was it always fun? Absolutely not! Am I ecstatically grateful? You betcha! Is there more to come? Undoubtedly. Am I ready for it? Game on!

As you look back over the last 10 months, for what and how are you experiencing gratitude? Are you grateful even for the roller-coaster ride? Use this discussion board/blog to post your insights. Read and discuss the insights of others. Go for it!

Last week, my mother returned home to find her husband dead on the bathroom floor. Somehow, I happened to call her within 15 minutes of her discovery, for a completely separate reason, and within the first few words, I could hear that something was wrong but couldn’t comprehend what she was telling me. When I finally did, I didn’t really know what to feel as a valid response. Why? I didn’t know him, and had actually only seen him once at my cousin’s wedding from across the room 13 years ago. My first concern, however, was my mother’s well-being—and thankfully, family members swooped in to care for her.

As I stated, I knew very little about my mother’s husband, and the little that I did know didn’t sit well with me. Over the years, my attitude had become one of distance because that’s about all I could muster. From my perspective, he was mean, abrupt, and callous; however, he was the man she chose. When asked by friends if I planned on attending the services, my answer was an easy, “No.” An answer that made sense based not only on the fact that I didn’t know him but also because my mother planned on having a cremation service. However, at the last minute she decided on a casket funeral, which meant that I had a decision to make: Do I attend/not attend the service? I decided I would attend only out of support for my mom’s loss.

Quickly, I found out that I couldn’t simply show up because she asked me to participate in the services through a reading. “Now…that’s going a bit too far, don’t you think?” I thought. But, again, I wanted to be supportive. However, when my name was called, there wasn’t anything to read. However, since I was already standing, the minister asked me to simply say a few words. “WHAT?!” the voice inside my head screamed. “I wouldn’t have a clue of what to say.”

Finally, in the few moments that felt like an eternity, I took my place behind the podium, looked at the sparse crowd in the parlor, gazed across the room at my grieving mother, and decided the only thing I could do was simply let go of the mask and say what was true for me while keeping in line with purpose of the service.

“Did I really just say that?” I thought to myself walking back to my seat. They weren’t your typical “funeral-soaked words,” but they were honest. The reason I am able to recount what I said is, to my horror, I looked up to find that my brother had been videotaping me. (Anyone who has ever heard me talk about black funerals is probably shaking their heads as they slowly realize I had been telling the truth about them all along.)

As other people who knew him well stepped up one after the other, I heard echos of the kind of life he’d lived. One person who claimed to have known him all of his life didn’t even know that the deceased was a veteran (mask). Another person mentioned how argumentative, stubborn, and critical he was (masks). Still another person mentioned how his family had been murmuring during the services about how my mother wouldn’t inherit his estate because he hadn’t left a will (mask, mask, mask). A few mentioned that he had financial vision and business acumen, and that he was a good friend to those whom he loved (ah…the possibility of the real man showing up?).

As I sat, I reflected on the kinds of things people might say at my memorial service. I realized how we wear so many masks…and we wear different masks for different people in different and various situations. In a moment, I decided to let down my mask of indifference and really participate in the experience I was having. Suddenly, everything I observed changed (unmasked). I saw my aunt’s poise, intelligence, and kindness—qualities I rarely notice about her (unmasked). I saw my brother’s sensitivity as the tears rolled down his cheeks when he noted that there had been more years than we could count since all of my siblings were in the same room at the same time (unmasked). I saw my sister’s unwavering commitment (unmasked), the generosity of my extended family (unmasked), and my grandmother’s pride in her unruly brood (unmasked).

Finally, I saw my mother’s frailty and her love for him despite it all (unmasked). And, I could only feel love. Yes, that’s what happens when we drops the mask. All else falls away. All else falls except love.

Use this discussion board/blog to post your insights. Read and discuss the insights of others. Go for it!