Category Archives: Family

Seems like only last year when the twins were celebrating a birthday, and here we have arrived at another – their 12th, bringing them just shy of teenage wasteland by a year. Time has been progressing rather quickly, and these last few years have brought about major changes in Emi and Noah, so much so that if we go more than a few weeks without seeing them they seem like new people. Such is the transitory nature of youth.

On this date, I always think back to the rainy day they came into this world – two tiny bundles of tightly-wrapped life, defenseless and little and in need of all sorts of sustenance. It’s a far cry from the two almost-young-adults who inch ever-closer to independence with each passing day. There’s something slightly sad about how fast it goes by, and something celebratory as well.

Happy Birthday to Noah and Emi – here’s to another year of fun adventures with Uncle Al and Uncle Andy! 

The Ilagan twins came for a weekend visit, fulfilling a promise we made to them for a winter weekend retreat, just under the winter wire, as there are a scant few weeks of the season that remain. When last we had them over, it was for our annual Fall Treasure Hunt weekend, a tradition we’ve managed to keep going throughout a pandemic and a world in crisis, and it is a testament to the power of children in keeping the rest of adults sane and focused on what is truly important. 

With the sun shining so brilliantly on the snow, and the sky this gorgeous hue of blue, we made our way to the Five Rivers Environmental Education Center (shout-out to my own agency, the Department of Environmental Conservation, for keeping up such an excellent site!) where we met up with Suzie for an import walk along the Beaver Tree Trail. (Lord knows I love a beaver.) Suzie’s daughter Oona joined us and we entered the wintry wilderness. 

I will not be revealing the wretched outfit I had to wear to brave the elements, but a hat, a hood, furry pants, and chunky boots were involved. 

The blessedly-short and quick trail was just the right length, allowing us to feel removed from the world without an extreme exertion of effort or distance. The charms and enchantments of a forest in winter cast an immediate and effective spell. Here, we were all children again, feeling the wonder of the world all over again, and experiencing a trail for the first time with my niece and nephew will be a memory that I file away for future reminiscences. 

With whispers of beavers in the air and some tell-tale/tail signs of their previous presence, I was transported back to my own childhood for a thrilling little remembrance of how much I had read and researched the polarizing creatures as a kit, err, kid. It was a bit of a full-circle moment as we finished up our walk and returned to civilization. 

After a wintry expedition, there’s nothing finer than a cup of hot cocoa with extra whipped cream. (We couldn’t find any mini-marshmallows.) After a dinner of Moroccan chicken, we watched a movie (‘Into the Woods’) and headed into the attic for evening traditions.

We resumed our meditation practice, doing our best to clear our minds from school and work worries. I asked them what their intentions were – Emily said she wanted to worry less about things, and Noah said he wanted to have fun. I told them my intention for the weekend was to be more present and in the moment, then explained how all of those intentions tied in together – when you are mindful and in the moment, you get to enjoy and have fun with what’s happening, and when that occurs you also remove the empty space for worrying and stressing about things. 

Before bed, Emily read a chapter of ‘The Trumpet of the Swan’ out loud, and I tucked them in with a goodnight hug. We all slept in the next morning, which is how the last day of winter break should be. Our next gathering will likely be for their 12th birthday… when it will be spring again. 

When we were little kids, my brother was basically my best friend. Of course I had school friends, and Suzie, but no one spent as much time with me as my brother. I was the shy one between us, and in many ways he was the courageous and social one. Most of the time I ended up tagging along with him and his friends rather than the typical older sibling leading the way. It worked – he would talk to just about anyone, and I could see who was safe and decide who to invest in. He was my gateway to socialization. 

As we got older and went in entirely opposite ways (which was no accident as we were born at the most diametrically-opposite positions on the calendar: February 25 and August 24) we fell out of each other’s circles, and moved far away from being the friends I thought we were. It was then that our brotherhood held us together – the blood given to us by our parents and shared only by us – and it has been enough to see us through all these years. Eventually we got back to being friends again, the way we always did after every fight or argument. After 45 years of having him here, we may have finally figured out how to be friends and brothers.

Today is his birthday, so Happy Birthday baby bro! I love you. 

My childhood home in Amsterdam, NY has always felt like a safe haven when the rest of the world roiled with the ravages of winter. Its stalwart white brick foundation held strong against rushing wind and swirling snow, and when the days turned sunnier and kinder, the windows let in the light to make its daily journey through the rooms. On a recent day with Dad, giving my Mom a break in which to run errands and enjoy a meditative bath, I took in the spirit of hygge that presented itself – the very essence of the concept – built on the warmth and connection of love between family. 

“To be in a situation characterized by hygge is to be in a state of pleasant well-being and security, with a relaxed frame of mind and an open enjoyment of the immediate situation in all its small pleasures. It is a state one achieves most often with close members of one’s social network–with one’s family, extended family, and friends.” ~ Judith Friedman Hansen

Though the day was frigid outside, inside the rooms felt warmed by memories old and new, by the mere approximation of my parents, by all that we’d shared in this space. Dad may not be as engaged as he once was, but there were still moments of connection, glimmers of recognition, and remembered photos of loved ones from the past. 

“Home is an emotional state, a place in the imagination where feelings of security, belonging, placement, family, protection, memory, and personal history abide.” ~ Thomas Moore

Dad looked through some photo books I’d made, and then we had some lunch and he took a nap. While he slept, I delved back into ‘The Book of Hygge’ by Louisa Thomsen Brits. 

“Hygge is a theme that can be lived in the middle of all the other elements of an engaged life. It’s not the absence of challenge or discomfort but a way of dealing with them. When we hygger we are not ignoring difficulty but putting it down for a while. Pain and shadow still exist on the periphery of an experience of hygge. We acknowledge their presence and prepare ourselves to address them by committing ourselves to the pleasures of the present moment, in order to regain momentum and cope with life with equanimity in the future.” ~ Louisa Thomsen Brits

It was pleasant being there with him. It reminded me that the greatest gift we can give each other is not found in expensive material possessions or grand, dramatic gestures – it is in our company. Simply being with a loved one, inhabiting the same place and time, is a gift. I did not take that for granted, and I leaned into the day forging a new memory to go with all the other happy ones we’d already made over the years. 

“It must be emphasized that hygge entails commitment to the present moment and a readiness to set distractions aside.” ~ Judith Friedman Hansen

Outside, in the brutal cold, a small opening in the little koi pond outside the window remained unfrozen for the fish below. It was difficult to imagine summer at such a point, but we knew it was waiting there – waiting for the winter to relent, waiting for the spring to lead the way. And rather than worry or rush the day away in the hope of bringing warmer weather sooner, I slowed down enough to breathe and be present. Taking it all in, I felt the profound gratitude of being there with Dad. 

“Hygge is evoked in situations where there is nothing to accomplish but letting go to the present moment in a way that’s more aligned to simple pleasure than deep reflection. Experiencing a sense of presence and belonging is challenging when we’re stressed or distracted. Hygge isn’t the complete absence of the usual demands of a fully engaged human life, but it is facilitated by a willingness to put down our problems and abandon our cares for a while.” ~ Louisa Thomsen Brits

The warmth and coziness I felt on one of the coldest days of the year wasn’t because of the candles or the heavy sweater or the blankets on hand in every room. It wasn’t found in a cup of tea or a comforting book. It came from a deeper place of hygge, a place of love and goodness and the unbreakable bond of family. On this quiet day that took its gentle meandering journey from morning to afternoon, my Dad and I moved through winter together. 

“At the heart of hygge is a willingness to set aside time for simply being with people and, ideally, having all the time in the world for them. Hygge is a vehicle for showing that we care. It’s a way of paying attention to our children or partners and friends in the messy reality of the here and now, and putting down the distractions that pull us in different directions. So many of us are drawn to a virtual world of connectivity. Hygge isn’t about a life without technology, but it asks us to balance our commitments and remember the value of human interaction, conversation, and physical intimacy. It liberates us to fully inhabit the moment without feeling compelled to record it.” ~ Louisa Thomsen Brits

Someone as self-less and giving as my mother deserves more than one day of celebration and appreciation, so whenever I get the chance I try to show her how much she is loved and adored by all of her family, especially her first-born son. (Shout-out to me! No offense, Powie.) 

In the last few years, as her focus shifts between grandchildren and husband, she’s had to juggle a number of tasks and responsibilities, but she has done so with the usual grit and determination and care with which she’s always tackled everything in her life. Lately, that means full-time care of Dad as he declines a little more every day, and while I know and see and understand how difficult the can be, I don’t often hear her complain or lament her role. A good nurse serves the needs of the unwell without hesitation or question – and my Mom has always been the best nurse I’ve ever met. Our family is lucky in that way, particularly at this point in Dad’s life. 

For all that, I try to implore the idea of self-care as she navigates the daily difficulties of all of us getting older, hoping she takes as much care of herself as she does for us. To that end, this post is a wish and hope that she hears and realizes how much we all love her, and how much gratitude we feel for everything she has always done for us. It will never make up for what she has given, but maybe it’s a small start for her birthday, and every day in the years ahead. 

Happy birthday, Mom. I love you. 

Whenever I get a chance to spend some time with Dad, it’s always worth it, so when I offered to take a day off and stay with him while Mom did some Christmas shopping, it was a lovely use of some earned vacation hours. Arriving in Amsterdam in the morning, I brought a book and some split-pea soup and bread for their dinner. Mom had made a batch of asado that I only needed to re-heat for lunch. She headed out and I settled in.

The day was chilly and windy, but inside the house where I grew up it was cozy and warm. Sun streamed in through the windows and would gradually shift as the day wore on. I remembered the way it moved through the house, how certain rooms came into their own glory depending on the time of day and year, and whether the sunlight was strong or hidden. On this morning it was happily strong, shining and illuminating the house in which I suddenly remembered the trajectory of a day. 

Dad was more engaged on this morning, even though Mom said he’d had a restless night. We watched the morning news programs for a while, then he sat in his chair and perused a photo book I’d made for them on our trips to Ogunquit. 

He picked up the newspaper when it arrived, probably more out of habit than anything else, but habitual actions aren’t bad. I reminded him to do his exercises, and he gamely got up and walked around the downstairs a couple of times. I brought him some apple juice, and then had him do another walkabout. He settled on the pull-out couch and took a quick nap, while I stepped outside to do a walk around the yard. Even in the winter, there was beauty here, as evidenced by these evergreens and their dangling pinecones – the promise of another spring to come. 

Coming back inside to the warmth, I saw that Dad was still asleep, so I started to fix lunch, then sat down in the living room to read. It was pleasant and peaceful there, quiet and still and cozy with the throw blanket Mom had left on the couch. I recalled those days of childhood when I was home sick and Mom and Dad had to go out working – the house was in the same state of stillness and peace as the sun moved in and out of the rooms as the day went along. 

On this day, it felt like a refuge again, a bit of relief from the insanity of the world and the work place, as much as break for me as it was for Mom, who was itching to get out in the opposite way. Dad came into the kitchen for lunch and we ate as the sun poured in from the front window. He took another quick nap after lunch, then was up until Mom returned. 

It was a day marked by happy memories of the past, and gratitude for the present. 

After another year of this pandemic and all the stupidity and foolishness that continues to put us in danger, there’s nothing else to be thankful for but family and friends who are still with us. For me, that’s my parents and Andy, and I’m extremely glad that they are still here in spite of setbacks and health scares and everything else that is happening in the world. Last year we weren’t sure about anything – this year feels even less certain – but we go on, and I’ll keep doing my best to protect the ones I love most, even if it means some hard truths and difficult decisions. 

That’s not what this day is for, however, and this morning I have nothing but gratitude for the people who have given me such a wonderful life. That’s why I’m so ferociously protective about them, and why they take priority over everything else. We will never get back to those enormous extended-family gatherings at the Ko house on Locust Avenue – they are the stuff of childhood memories now, and they formed the bedrock upon which I was able to set out into the world, and to do my best to make something as decent and honorable as I could. It’s nothing too spectacular… and yet it is, in the way that we are all pretty spectacular when you think about what it truly takes to be a good person in the world today. I couldn’t ever make it this far alone, and Andy and Mom and Dad are the ones who kept me on track with their love and support, even and especially when it wasn’t always earned. 

In the last couple of years, I’ve been doing my best to give back a little of that in the only ways I know how, and on this Thanksgiving the profound gratitude I feel for the past year is both humbling and moving. 

May you have some of the same love and warmth in your day as well. Happy Thanksgiving.

It’s been a rough couple of weeks for a lot of people I know, and for my family as well. Dad’s Alzheimer’s has progressed, and we watch with a helpless, sinking feeling, coupled with a gratitude that he is still doing relatively well for someone at 91 years of age. Mom is working on the best next-steps for his continued care and health and comfort, and I’m trying to be as helpful as I can to her. Mostly, I’ve been following her lead, and we’re both navigating these new waters using her nursing experience, and what limited advice I can offer, which isn’t much. We’re doing our best, and I’m grateful for her experience and background, as well as my brother’s helpful presence in Amsterdam. There are also a very few silver linings in Alzheimer’s, such as when bad news of lost loved ones has to be conveyed. 

My Uncle – one of my Dad’s brothers in the Philippines whom I had met in 1997 – recently died of COVID. I haven’t mentioned it to many people, mostly because I’m too exhausted to explain or even accept condolences. Not in this age of COVID. He was one of my favorite Uncles – the most quiet and gentle and kind one I met on my trip to the Philippines – but apparently he was victim to the misinformation plaguing the entire world. When his wife scheduled vaccination appointments for the two of them several months ago, he refused to go. Now he is dead. 

I don’t know exactly how the news registered with Dad. He apparently seemed to understand at one point, but then he had forgotten it within a few minutes. The rare bonus of grace in certain cases of dementia. Along with erasing and blunting memory and reality, it also wipes away some of the pain. 

As for my Uncle, and the family he leaves behind by not taking a simple vaccine, I feel a sense of loss, a sense of anger, and a sense of giving up. I’m just exhausted by where we are. I’m tired of the anti-vaxxers and the march of deadly misinformation that’s killing so many around the world. I’m tired of the awfulness of such ignorance, the willful refusal to be careful and compassionate, the careless cruelty and selfishness that has all fed into this mess. I’m tired of the anti-maskers, who can’t be bothered to think of anything but a supposed attack on a freedom that they are ultimately destroying by binding us all to this for far longer than was necessary. I’m tired of searching for someone to blame, for something to attack and soak up all the hatred we are storing in our hearts. 

And so I am retreating a bit from the world. Returning to my daily meditation. Curling into books of comfort. Sitting quietly with Andy while he watches television. Reaching out to old friends. Staying away from social media. Beginning the preparatory stillness of fall that leads into the hibernation of winter…