Everyone wants something done. There is not a soul that says "Oh, just leave EVERYTHING the way it is, it's working great!" Everyone is standing around a perfectly round circle, looking toward the center from their personal viewpoint. Many, many points on the circle claim that this is their time to take charge. This is their time to change what they see as the root of the problem. Students have a view. Lawmakers have a view. Teachers have a view. Parents have a view. Law-abiding gun owners have a view. Politicians have a view. Even within each group mentioned, the views may differ widely.
With the advent of immediate news and social networking, it is a foregone conclusion that a democracy such as America sometimes boils down to the fact that the side that makes the most noise wins. The side that can inflict the most public shame on the other side wins. What one side thinks is the absolute white to the other side's black and the other side is stupid beyond all belief.
Tragedy creates outcry. The strength and effectiveness of the outcry is in direct correlation to the degree of the tragedy. When there is alignment between horrific tragedy, a wide net of procedures that were bent or broken, and well-spoken young Americans creating the outcry, the media forces us to pay attention.
It is not my intent in writing this to declare where I am on the circle. It is my intent to possibly have anyone on any arc of the circle look around and realize there are 360 degrees to the viewpoints that have ideas as to how to respond to this tragedy. Yes, many things can be addressed; but let's try to be logical!
Are there already laws that aren't being followed? How about we put some energy and funds into enforcing those laws? Are there common sense things you can do to prevent that type of tragedy from happening again? Do it! Make it a habit! Just today, I was a local headline on a story about thieves stealing from vehicles; it said "Residents, lock your doors!". The mindset of a time and place where doors could be left unlocked is not conducive to preventing the type of tragedy we have seen recently. Times have changed. Taking your shoes off at airport security is a pain, but we do it and feel safer for it! Are you a parent that doesn't snoop? Do it!! Go through their stuff. Do they pay for it? Chances are if they do, it's a very small portion. Look through backpacks, purses, phones, closets, drawers, computer browsing history, cars - and yes, you may get a bit of a broken heart in doing so, but you will also stay in touch and hopefully learn when to seek help.
Once we step up to the plate with what is already in place, then we can look and see if any big new changes make sense. Logically.
Try to turn your neck and look at the views on the left and right of your position on the circle. If someone expresses their view from their arc, don't cry stupidity the moment you realize they come from a different angle. Be logical. Imagine that you have to answer for your beliefs and your statements. Don't believe something just because of social media or because someone in Hollywood said so. Be aware that the media - all of it - is the product of humans. Talk to people. Be nice to people. Know that drastic times call for logical intelligence more than they do drastic measures.
Showing posts with label acceptance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label acceptance. Show all posts
Sunday, February 25, 2018
Friday, July 8, 2016
A Grocery Store Revolution
We must all.........
Everybody has an answer to fill in the blank. Everybody knows what it takes. Words like
love, respect, prayer, patience, peace, tolerance, reform, control, matter;
words, words, words, ideas, ideas, ideas. Let me
ask a question: When you walk out of your door, get in your car and go buy
groceries, are you living up to your words?
Are you practicing your ideas? How do we do that?
Everybody has to buy groceries. We don't always enjoy it, but we do it to
live. Let's take a scene at the local
Wal-Mart Neighborhood Market. It's
weekly shopping time. Everyone arrives
at the store in their own way - driving, walking, bus, however. When you walk through the doors of the
Market, you become a "grocery-store person". You choose your buggy (cart, basket). So does everyone else. You walk each aisle according to your list, or
your shopping style. So does everyone else. Do you ever really pay attention to the
"grocery-store people"?
There's a family blocking the cereal aisle because the four
kids won't stay on one side. There are
teenagers being loud, perhaps even pushing one another in the cart. There are senior citizens moving slowly and
standing for what seems like forever in front of the eggs, just when you need
some. Do you practice your ideas on
these people? I'm not specifying what race
or religion, these are just grocery-store people. Do you smile?
Do you speak a kind word? Do you
respect? Do you remind yourself in your
own mind that they were once you, or could be the future you?
I think this is where it starts. I have had many occasions to simply smile at
someone that may have made me impatient or uncomfortable. I'm also not so innocent that I don't think
of how to defend myself in certain places and situations - but I don't think
that will build the better world for which we all long. I don't pretend to have the answer as to what
will build that better world; but I do know that you can give it a jump-start
at the grocery store. Start a revolution. Smile at someone today.
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Lunch and a Lecture
I feel like I just got in trouble. Correction, I feel as if I just got in trouble for something I didn't do. I have written about the arbitrary timeline that people place on grief before. However, I never thought that somebody would look me right in the face and tell me that others could be offended or hurt if I didn't respect the one year period.
I do want to clarify a couple of things. First of all, I am past the one year mark. (I almost said finish line, because that's the impression I got from today's lecture. ) I am, however, dating Robbie, who experienced his loss only nine months prior to the "words of warning". We are seriously dating. We have not run away to Las Vegas.
When a widow even starts to date a widower, two entire families and countless other friends are affected. The couple has to choose how to balance getting to know each other and possibly letting a relationship grow with being mindful of the fact that a mother, father, sister, brother and a child are gone. The remaining children, siblings and parents can't ever find someone that will allow a new start. That kind of relationship can't be replaced. I like how this clip explains it - substitute your own relationship for the word Dad:
The Dead Dads Club
Discussions about how to respect, love, understand and ease the way for everybody have been a habit for Robbie and me since the beginning. While we want all family members on both sides to be happy for us, we want them to know that we respect what they have lost. We also want them to know that we hold our own memories sacred, and both of us completely comprehend that we were happy with another person for thirty years or so. We are not trying to replace the ones that were lost. That's impossible.
So we listened to the lecturer, remaining politely silent while knowing inside that we are definitely trying our utmost to respect everybody and live up to our responsibilities. The only part where we missed the mark was on the one-year period of mourning. Robbie later asked these questions: "What am I supposed to do for that year? Go home to the empty house? Not talk to another woman? Not go on a date? Be sad night after night?"
If he doesn't do those things, will he get in trouble? Will I get in trouble if I'm involved? Would we not be "received" in polite society? Will our daughters never be presented? Will our sons never be invited to join the country club? Last century, perhaps, or the one before. We are not concerned with rules or silly consequences. We are concerned that all of our family members that suffered irreplaceable loss are given the time they need to understand that we haven't forgotten anybody; nor are we trying to replace them. We've made up our own rules, with love, responsibility and understanding as the guidelines. To answer the lecturer: it will probably take that long, but not because it's a magic number of days or months. It may take that long because we hold so many of you dear and love you as much or more than we care for ourselves. The lecturer is one of the dearest and most deeply affected. We want to do the right thing, timeline or not. We love you all.
I do want to clarify a couple of things. First of all, I am past the one year mark. (I almost said finish line, because that's the impression I got from today's lecture. ) I am, however, dating Robbie, who experienced his loss only nine months prior to the "words of warning". We are seriously dating. We have not run away to Las Vegas.
When a widow even starts to date a widower, two entire families and countless other friends are affected. The couple has to choose how to balance getting to know each other and possibly letting a relationship grow with being mindful of the fact that a mother, father, sister, brother and a child are gone. The remaining children, siblings and parents can't ever find someone that will allow a new start. That kind of relationship can't be replaced. I like how this clip explains it - substitute your own relationship for the word Dad:
The Dead Dads Club
Discussions about how to respect, love, understand and ease the way for everybody have been a habit for Robbie and me since the beginning. While we want all family members on both sides to be happy for us, we want them to know that we respect what they have lost. We also want them to know that we hold our own memories sacred, and both of us completely comprehend that we were happy with another person for thirty years or so. We are not trying to replace the ones that were lost. That's impossible.
So we listened to the lecturer, remaining politely silent while knowing inside that we are definitely trying our utmost to respect everybody and live up to our responsibilities. The only part where we missed the mark was on the one-year period of mourning. Robbie later asked these questions: "What am I supposed to do for that year? Go home to the empty house? Not talk to another woman? Not go on a date? Be sad night after night?"
If he doesn't do those things, will he get in trouble? Will I get in trouble if I'm involved? Would we not be "received" in polite society? Will our daughters never be presented? Will our sons never be invited to join the country club? Last century, perhaps, or the one before. We are not concerned with rules or silly consequences. We are concerned that all of our family members that suffered irreplaceable loss are given the time they need to understand that we haven't forgotten anybody; nor are we trying to replace them. We've made up our own rules, with love, responsibility and understanding as the guidelines. To answer the lecturer: it will probably take that long, but not because it's a magic number of days or months. It may take that long because we hold so many of you dear and love you as much or more than we care for ourselves. The lecturer is one of the dearest and most deeply affected. We want to do the right thing, timeline or not. We love you all.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
One year, cloudy water and Mother's Day
This was intended to be my final post. I told myself "I'll end it at the one year anniversary. I'll just let it be about the first year of grief." I tell myself a lot of things that don't happen. There's a story that is my life and I've chosen to chronicle it here. It would be unfair to leave it hanging at this point. I'm wanting to know what happens myself!
Mother's Day morning, the pool water was yellow and cloudy. Somehow, the cloudy water mirrored my attitude. Three days prior was the one year mark for Scott's death. It was a day. Not horrible, not great, just a day. I called his mom, I called my girls. I was grateful that the girls did the public, social media "wish you were still here" tribute. Both were beautiful, and I didn't want to have to do that.
I received one note in the mail before that day. It was from Maria, my college roommate, who lost her husband the very same way last September. Maria gets it. She understands that the date must be acknowledged, but she also knows about Robbie and how I'm feeling hopeful again. Part of her note said :You can now walk into May 9th and into your next chapter, or rather volume, feeling happy and excited." I kept that in mind on Friday, May 9th. I took a breath and carried on, thinking positively.
Friday turned out to be a positive day. Robbie sent me flowers at work. That's a big deal. A beautiful arrangement that was still going strong a week later, and a nice note. Positive, happy and excited were on the front burner. Saturday then dawned bright and my mood wasn't even shattered by Gordon getting dirt all over my white linen pants. Although alone most of the morning, I solved that problem by leisurely shopping and doing errands. My friend came over in the afternoon, we hit the pool and then saw a movie. Not too bad.
Mother's Day Sunday, I woke to one nice note, although not from my kids (at that point). When I looked out the window, I was surprised to see the the pool water had turned a cloudy yellow. I immediately checked chemicals, turned on filters, researched "yellow, cloudy water", scrubbed, emptied, etc. etc. I then sat back and crossed my fingers. That's what I do with the pool, a lot of the time. It may have been Mother's Day, but that water was not going to clear itself! The rest of the day was filled with either visiting or talking with those whom I love. I was only alone for a portion of the morning. I did talk to one person that was having their first mother's day without the mom of the family. As much as I want to reach out, and even though I've experienced almost the very same thing, I don't feel I helped very much. Some days are just hard.
I don't like not being able to help people and I don't like not being able to help myself. Thank goodness these "hard days" only last a while. Time marched on, I've seen Robbie face to face again, and last night my girls came home.....with a Mother's Day present. The few hours of the cloudy water and being alone have faded away like the cloudy water itself. All it took to clear the water was two bags of chlorine shock and a little time for filtering.
Most of the past year has been cloudy for me. I've learned that it is possible for the cloudiness to clear with time. It took the shock of the fact that life can go on with happiness and the time to filter that fact. It might not be exactly one year, but dismissing the timeline is becoming easier. Just this past weekend (two weeks after mother's day), the cloudiness started to creep back into the pool. No fair! I thought it was gone! I also thought that grief might disappear with the one year mark. You guessed it. It doesn't. It can be eased, though. Shock and time. Go away, cloudy days. I choose the shock of feeling happy and secure once again along with the time that has gone by to banish cloudiness and restore clear vision.
Mother's Day morning, the pool water was yellow and cloudy. Somehow, the cloudy water mirrored my attitude. Three days prior was the one year mark for Scott's death. It was a day. Not horrible, not great, just a day. I called his mom, I called my girls. I was grateful that the girls did the public, social media "wish you were still here" tribute. Both were beautiful, and I didn't want to have to do that.
I received one note in the mail before that day. It was from Maria, my college roommate, who lost her husband the very same way last September. Maria gets it. She understands that the date must be acknowledged, but she also knows about Robbie and how I'm feeling hopeful again. Part of her note said :You can now walk into May 9th and into your next chapter, or rather volume, feeling happy and excited." I kept that in mind on Friday, May 9th. I took a breath and carried on, thinking positively.
Friday turned out to be a positive day. Robbie sent me flowers at work. That's a big deal. A beautiful arrangement that was still going strong a week later, and a nice note. Positive, happy and excited were on the front burner. Saturday then dawned bright and my mood wasn't even shattered by Gordon getting dirt all over my white linen pants. Although alone most of the morning, I solved that problem by leisurely shopping and doing errands. My friend came over in the afternoon, we hit the pool and then saw a movie. Not too bad.
Mother's Day Sunday, I woke to one nice note, although not from my kids (at that point). When I looked out the window, I was surprised to see the the pool water had turned a cloudy yellow. I immediately checked chemicals, turned on filters, researched "yellow, cloudy water", scrubbed, emptied, etc. etc. I then sat back and crossed my fingers. That's what I do with the pool, a lot of the time. It may have been Mother's Day, but that water was not going to clear itself! The rest of the day was filled with either visiting or talking with those whom I love. I was only alone for a portion of the morning. I did talk to one person that was having their first mother's day without the mom of the family. As much as I want to reach out, and even though I've experienced almost the very same thing, I don't feel I helped very much. Some days are just hard.
I don't like not being able to help people and I don't like not being able to help myself. Thank goodness these "hard days" only last a while. Time marched on, I've seen Robbie face to face again, and last night my girls came home.....with a Mother's Day present. The few hours of the cloudy water and being alone have faded away like the cloudy water itself. All it took to clear the water was two bags of chlorine shock and a little time for filtering.
Most of the past year has been cloudy for me. I've learned that it is possible for the cloudiness to clear with time. It took the shock of the fact that life can go on with happiness and the time to filter that fact. It might not be exactly one year, but dismissing the timeline is becoming easier. Just this past weekend (two weeks after mother's day), the cloudiness started to creep back into the pool. No fair! I thought it was gone! I also thought that grief might disappear with the one year mark. You guessed it. It doesn't. It can be eased, though. Shock and time. Go away, cloudy days. I choose the shock of feeling happy and secure once again along with the time that has gone by to banish cloudiness and restore clear vision.
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Sometimes I Can't Say It, But Disney Can 4/29/14
I can't say certain things. I have a code that I employ. Those close to me usually know what I mean, but I avoid the most direct words. I don't know why, I should be able to speak clearly about anything. I enjoy employing the right words to get a message across. So why am I shut down when it comes to talking about Scott's death and all the things that happen afterward? I didn't even want to type those words in that last sentence.
Many of you have heard me speak directly, contradicting what I just said. It does happen. I try hard. I act. I pretend that I can say that and move on with the story or conversation at hand. I fool myself and it works for a while. Other times, I just can't. My voice can't speak "when Scott died", so I say "...with what happened...", usually with a wave of my hand and a sad look on my face. People understand. They don't push. I'm pretty sure people would understand anything, though, so I don't know why I hide.
I hide what I'm doing. If I say I need to "get some things done", I am probably finally cleaning his clothes out of the chest of drawers and taking them to Goodwill. If I have a "meeting", I am probably finding out how to transfer assets or close an account (or even a business) by seeing a professional in person or talking on the phone.
I'm trying now, though. Since I'm starting to be open about the fact that I'm seeing someone (dating, have a boyfriend, in a relationship.....what's it called when you're in your 50s??), I'm really attempting to state the facts. Today, though, Disney made it clear. You see, there are some Disney movies that, when they are showing, I can play every word of dialogue and every song lyric in my head. I can do a complete talk and sing-along with these certain few movies. Today, it was "The Lion King".
It's "Field Day" at school for the the next three days. During Field Day, a grade level goes outside for their fun races/relays for half of the school day. Six grade levels, one half day each = three entire days. Since the coaches run field day, the 'large group' time happens with me and the art teacher. All the kids in the grade level, sitting in the gym, watching a movie. Sounds easy, right? It is, about eighty percent of the time. The other twenty percent is filled with the challenge of pre-teens that have attitudes, eight-year-olds that hit each other, or little ones that throw up or bite someone. Today I play imperial ruler and choose which movie will entertain a grade level the best. I decided that third grade would get "The Lion King". They needed a powerful movie because they came in all dressed in their colored t-shirts, ready to go for their afternoon of field day. I was blindly singing along when I sang these words:
I'm trying now, though. Since I'm starting to be open about the fact that I'm seeing someone (dating, have a boyfriend, in a relationship.....what's it called when you're in your 50s??), I'm really attempting to state the facts. Today, though, Disney made it clear. You see, there are some Disney movies that, when they are showing, I can play every word of dialogue and every song lyric in my head. I can do a complete talk and sing-along with these certain few movies. Today, it was "The Lion King".
It's "Field Day" at school for the the next three days. During Field Day, a grade level goes outside for their fun races/relays for half of the school day. Six grade levels, one half day each = three entire days. Since the coaches run field day, the 'large group' time happens with me and the art teacher. All the kids in the grade level, sitting in the gym, watching a movie. Sounds easy, right? It is, about eighty percent of the time. The other twenty percent is filled with the challenge of pre-teens that have attitudes, eight-year-olds that hit each other, or little ones that throw up or bite someone. Today I play imperial ruler and choose which movie will entertain a grade level the best. I decided that third grade would get "The Lion King". They needed a powerful movie because they came in all dressed in their colored t-shirts, ready to go for their afternoon of field day. I was blindly singing along when I sang these words:
"From the day we arrive on the planet
And blinking, step into the sun.
There's more to see than can ever be seen,
more to do than can ever be done.
There's far too much to take in here,
More to find than can ever be found.
But the sun rolling high
Through the sapphire sky
Keeps great and small on the endless round
It's the Circle of Life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
It's the Circle,
The Circle of Life"
I'd heard it at least five hundred times before. I've sung along, taught the notes, conducted it in performance. I've even heard it several times since Scott died. (See what I did there? I'm trying!) But I heard it differently today because of the progression of events in my life. Who knew that a cartoon about lions could validate what I was discovering; that life can move on - from despair to hope? Quite often though, I find that songs or writings can give me inspiration, validation and a sense of confirmation for what I am feeling. I think we all do, and that's part of the reason the arts exist.
Moving on doesn't mean we leave our past behind. (Or "your behind in your past" , as Pumbaa says!) Simba didn't want to talk about Mufasa's death, either. But his friends encouraged him to try to keep enjoying life. "Moving on" is not about forgetting the past; for me it means finding my place on "the path unwinding". I have my own personal "Timons and Pumbaas". Thank you for all your kind words and encouragement to find my place.
Last, but not least, a round of applause for Tim Rice, lyricist, and Disney - well said, my friends.
Moving on doesn't mean we leave our past behind. (Or "your behind in your past" , as Pumbaa says!) Simba didn't want to talk about Mufasa's death, either. But his friends encouraged him to try to keep enjoying life. "Moving on" is not about forgetting the past; for me it means finding my place on "the path unwinding". I have my own personal "Timons and Pumbaas". Thank you for all your kind words and encouragement to find my place.
Last, but not least, a round of applause for Tim Rice, lyricist, and Disney - well said, my friends.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Double Classes and Holding My Breath 4/17/14
Surprise! The art teacher is sick today and there's no substitute! "Of course, I'll take those classes. No problem." I mean, what choice is there, really? Somebody has to take the extra group; I have one and PE already has two. Simple math, the music teacher takes the extra group.
So today, instead of having my usual thirty darlings, I get to control anywhere from fifty to seventy. Alone. I've kind of gotten used to alone. Actually, though, that may be changing.
The last time I had to endure double classes, I wrote about taking a breath. Taking a breath emotionally and letting the realization of "who I am now" find the cracks in the wall that let happiness shine through like bright summer sun. I am a little further along that path now. A journey continues on a daily basis, does it not? My itinerary has been busy lately.
I have seen the sunshine of happiness and I am now traveling a road of healing. the care, attention and understanding given to me by Robbie have helped me wake up and realize that joy can be re-discovered in the aftermath of sorrow. Robbie is traveling the same road, so when we need to take a break and sit on a bench for a while....we do.
Today, although I'm having to monitor double classes, I'm holding my breath - in anticipation. Robbie, who has kindly traveled the miles to visit me twice already, is visiting again this weekend. Although we talk very often, it's so much nicer in person. I'm anticipating laughter, serious talk, fun, a little sadness, but mostly a wonderful time.
Even though I had twice the students I usually do today...on the day before a holiday...I can smile on the inside and know that there's someone to listen to me talk about it when I get home. I may be alone in the classroom, but no longer in my spirit. What a difference. Robbie and I acknowledge our respective tragic pasts and are seeking a happier future. The sad chapters in our story have come to a close, and some happy chapters are being written. So talk on, big groups of kids. I'll hold my breath until 4:00 and enjoy the weekend.
So today, instead of having my usual thirty darlings, I get to control anywhere from fifty to seventy. Alone. I've kind of gotten used to alone. Actually, though, that may be changing.
The last time I had to endure double classes, I wrote about taking a breath. Taking a breath emotionally and letting the realization of "who I am now" find the cracks in the wall that let happiness shine through like bright summer sun. I am a little further along that path now. A journey continues on a daily basis, does it not? My itinerary has been busy lately.
I have seen the sunshine of happiness and I am now traveling a road of healing. the care, attention and understanding given to me by Robbie have helped me wake up and realize that joy can be re-discovered in the aftermath of sorrow. Robbie is traveling the same road, so when we need to take a break and sit on a bench for a while....we do.
Today, although I'm having to monitor double classes, I'm holding my breath - in anticipation. Robbie, who has kindly traveled the miles to visit me twice already, is visiting again this weekend. Although we talk very often, it's so much nicer in person. I'm anticipating laughter, serious talk, fun, a little sadness, but mostly a wonderful time.
Even though I had twice the students I usually do today...on the day before a holiday...I can smile on the inside and know that there's someone to listen to me talk about it when I get home. I may be alone in the classroom, but no longer in my spirit. What a difference. Robbie and I acknowledge our respective tragic pasts and are seeking a happier future. The sad chapters in our story have come to a close, and some happy chapters are being written. So talk on, big groups of kids. I'll hold my breath until 4:00 and enjoy the weekend.
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Help-books and Fun-books....
Just today, I stumbled across the fact that there are actually books out there meant to help people like me. Help-books. Not being much of a non-fiction reader, this fact did not surprise me as much as the number of them available. The funny part is, I've thought and planned to turn these blog posts into a book, in case they could help someone else that is grieving. I just didn't know that lots of people have already done that! I'm not sure whether any of them have the plot twist of meeting someone new so soon, as I have. I'm trying to record and remember all the feelings that go with along with it - don't know if any of those other books do that! I should probably read them all and find out!
Do these books give advice? I think some do. They are meant to be Help-books. I did peruse one at Barnes and Noble one evening. It had chapters on everything from immediately after your spouse's death to a chapter called "Widows and Sex". I did not buy it - I did what anybody would do, looked at the 'good' parts and put it back down. I didn't really learn anything new or groundbreaking, so you will get no details from me!
I feel a little guilty, though, that I've done all this writing and not read what others have said before me. (I generally feel guilty about most everything, no surprise there!) I've read little bits, just not books. A blog post is about the right length for my concentration these days. I started reading a John Grisham book that a friend lent me in January. To me, that's a Fun-book. It's April and I'm on page 72. I'm only able to sit for so long until thoughts and ideas flood my brain and I have to just get up and do something. Sometimes the something is writing down the thoughts. Sometimes it's cleaning out a drawer. You never know.
I jump up, do whatever it is I feel needs "doing", and move on to the next thing. I don't go back to the book. That is not the person I used to be, when a Fun-book could devour my days and nights until I finished it. Readers are a special breed of people. The list of things we can ignore while immersed in a book can include family, friends, pets, hunger, chores....on and on. I am one of those, usually, just not lately.
I did research and read Help-stuff. Not books. Thank goodness there are web pages and support forums out there that I could read in a 'drive-by' style. They did help, a bit. But what helped mostly was sitting here and organizing what I was feeling into sentences, paragraphs and full posts. I've been pretty honest about what I've been feeling for the last eleven months. I want to remain true to form, just because everyone has been so loving, supportive and encouraging. Writing these little posts has been my therapy, my meditation, my crutch, punching bag and wailing wall. I think writing took the place of immersion in Fun-books.
I don't think I'll read the other Help-books. I am moving forward on my own. Well, mostly on my own. My boyfriend has been through the same loss, so I have a new sounding board; one that has been there. Perhaps, though, I'll just keep writing in case this one turns into a Help-book itself. It would be a privilege to help anyone. Anyone at all. It's also non-fiction, so I probably wouldn't read it, but that's all right; I'm living a non-fiction life right now and it's turning into a story that I wouldn't put down!
Do these books give advice? I think some do. They are meant to be Help-books. I did peruse one at Barnes and Noble one evening. It had chapters on everything from immediately after your spouse's death to a chapter called "Widows and Sex". I did not buy it - I did what anybody would do, looked at the 'good' parts and put it back down. I didn't really learn anything new or groundbreaking, so you will get no details from me!
I feel a little guilty, though, that I've done all this writing and not read what others have said before me. (I generally feel guilty about most everything, no surprise there!) I've read little bits, just not books. A blog post is about the right length for my concentration these days. I started reading a John Grisham book that a friend lent me in January. To me, that's a Fun-book. It's April and I'm on page 72. I'm only able to sit for so long until thoughts and ideas flood my brain and I have to just get up and do something. Sometimes the something is writing down the thoughts. Sometimes it's cleaning out a drawer. You never know.
I jump up, do whatever it is I feel needs "doing", and move on to the next thing. I don't go back to the book. That is not the person I used to be, when a Fun-book could devour my days and nights until I finished it. Readers are a special breed of people. The list of things we can ignore while immersed in a book can include family, friends, pets, hunger, chores....on and on. I am one of those, usually, just not lately.
I did research and read Help-stuff. Not books. Thank goodness there are web pages and support forums out there that I could read in a 'drive-by' style. They did help, a bit. But what helped mostly was sitting here and organizing what I was feeling into sentences, paragraphs and full posts. I've been pretty honest about what I've been feeling for the last eleven months. I want to remain true to form, just because everyone has been so loving, supportive and encouraging. Writing these little posts has been my therapy, my meditation, my crutch, punching bag and wailing wall. I think writing took the place of immersion in Fun-books.
I don't think I'll read the other Help-books. I am moving forward on my own. Well, mostly on my own. My boyfriend has been through the same loss, so I have a new sounding board; one that has been there. Perhaps, though, I'll just keep writing in case this one turns into a Help-book itself. It would be a privilege to help anyone. Anyone at all. It's also non-fiction, so I probably wouldn't read it, but that's all right; I'm living a non-fiction life right now and it's turning into a story that I wouldn't put down!
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Are you entertaining? 4/1/14 (not an April fool!)
It was the cutest question ever. I'm a sucker for the old-fashioned phrases anyway, but this one just made me giggle, blush and think "Oh, how cute!" at the same time. There is this adorable, very stylish, Southern LADY (capitals on purpose!) at my workplace. She is a source of inspiration to me because her charm and happy attitude never falter. She also went through losing her husband suddenly - but is now happily re-married.
I asked her, shortly after I started talking to someone, how soon after her husband died she started dating, or met her second husband. I was trying to sort through my own feelings of stepping into any kind of involvement, especially when a year had not passed. (Her answer was more proper than my situation, so I just tucked that knowledge away and carried on!) I just get the feeling that if I do something too quickly or without seeming to show proper respect, that everyone will pass judgement. Maybe I've watched too much "Gone With the Wind", but this is what my mind sees when people ask a question and I answer honestly:
So instead, I drop hints or keep quiet. If you read this, then you know - but there are very few of you, to tell the truth. I'm not sure some of my relatives even read it! It's a fact I can share now, though; I'm dating. He lost his special someone, too, so we have that in common. I didn't search for him, he searched for me. I feel like a character from a book because things have been so coincidental and magical. It's early days right now, but it's very nice.
I thought I was keeping things to myself and a few close friends, until the cute question today. Precious Southern lady came into the workroom for lunch, and started looking around while her food was heating in the microwave. "I just love to look at what everybody brings for lunch!" she drawled. Focusing on my little dish: "Oooh, you made a pot roast? For just you?" I blushed, and just shook my head 'no'. She then whisper-exclaimed (oh, so properly...) "Oh my goodness, are you entertaining?" I nodded, laughing, while she gave me a big hug. "I'm so glad to hear that, good for you!" I could only agree. Please don't faint like Aunt Pittypat.....please just accept the notion that I might be "entertaining" and it might be making me happier than I have been in a long time!
I asked her, shortly after I started talking to someone, how soon after her husband died she started dating, or met her second husband. I was trying to sort through my own feelings of stepping into any kind of involvement, especially when a year had not passed. (Her answer was more proper than my situation, so I just tucked that knowledge away and carried on!) I just get the feeling that if I do something too quickly or without seeming to show proper respect, that everyone will pass judgement. Maybe I've watched too much "Gone With the Wind", but this is what my mind sees when people ask a question and I answer honestly:
So instead, I drop hints or keep quiet. If you read this, then you know - but there are very few of you, to tell the truth. I'm not sure some of my relatives even read it! It's a fact I can share now, though; I'm dating. He lost his special someone, too, so we have that in common. I didn't search for him, he searched for me. I feel like a character from a book because things have been so coincidental and magical. It's early days right now, but it's very nice.
I thought I was keeping things to myself and a few close friends, until the cute question today. Precious Southern lady came into the workroom for lunch, and started looking around while her food was heating in the microwave. "I just love to look at what everybody brings for lunch!" she drawled. Focusing on my little dish: "Oooh, you made a pot roast? For just you?" I blushed, and just shook my head 'no'. She then whisper-exclaimed (oh, so properly...) "Oh my goodness, are you entertaining?" I nodded, laughing, while she gave me a big hug. "I'm so glad to hear that, good for you!" I could only agree. Please don't faint like Aunt Pittypat.....please just accept the notion that I might be "entertaining" and it might be making me happier than I have been in a long time!
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Double Classes and Taking a Breath
Double classes. Sometimes it's terrible. Sometimes it's perfectly fine. Sometimes even - one hour of terrible followed by one hour of wonderful. Double classes for a "large group" teacher does not mean two homerooms. It means three to four homerooms of darling children.
It takes a certain amount of disciplinary skill to handle large group. There's the authoritative voice, the appeal to all the years that they have known you (and your expectations), the promise of reward, and the occasional threat (and action) of having to "sit out". It is possible to manage a large (from 60-90) group of students successfully if you have enough tricks in your bag.
Teaching double classes is difficult and sometimes annoying, but I only expound on that to relay the miraculous fact that I, on a day like today, can still be in a "good mood".
Someone like me, on their journey of grief, may smile, laugh or joke on the outside. But for a long period of time, those looks and sounds are surface only. I heard an actual account, just yesterday, of what others say about "how she's doing" (she being me). They say "She's doing great!" and best of all; "Her spirits are good." The person that knows my spirits is someone I only speak to about once a week.
I am not calling those people liars. They are telling the truth as they interpret it. They are seeing my act on the stage that is my world. The costumes, the makeup (Thank God!) the portrayal of expected emotions, and the utterances of the lines that everyone wants to hear. I have fooled them all, haha! Until now. Today, my smile felt real. Today, the feeling down deep inside matched the way my eyes crinkled with laughter. On a double class day, no less!
It's a journey. On a journey, you make progress. Some are quicker, some are slower. There is no minimum or maximum speed. Some progress is internal. Some is very public. And some...well, some has to do with coming to terms with your new self because all of the sudden it's not as new, it's who you are. It was an abrupt realization. In my mind I compared it to someone in the movies or on TV that is knocked out and not breathing.....and then WHAM! - they take that breath and they're still alive. My emotions did that recently. That isn't a complete victory over inner sadness - it's just a break from it. Like anything that starts, though, it can grow.
Today, I was doing great. The life-saving breath experience was still a memory that made me feel happy inside. My spirits were good today. It's about time, they've been bad inside for almost a year - in spite of what some others think. You just couldn't see it. Today, the double class did not incur my wrath. (Wrath for me usually being a lecture, haha.) Instead they incurred my humor and sly jokes that tricked them into behaving for me. I know that actually feeling the happiness I've faked for so long won't be permanent, but I pray it won't be a stranger, either.
It takes a certain amount of disciplinary skill to handle large group. There's the authoritative voice, the appeal to all the years that they have known you (and your expectations), the promise of reward, and the occasional threat (and action) of having to "sit out". It is possible to manage a large (from 60-90) group of students successfully if you have enough tricks in your bag.
Teaching double classes is difficult and sometimes annoying, but I only expound on that to relay the miraculous fact that I, on a day like today, can still be in a "good mood".
Someone like me, on their journey of grief, may smile, laugh or joke on the outside. But for a long period of time, those looks and sounds are surface only. I heard an actual account, just yesterday, of what others say about "how she's doing" (she being me). They say "She's doing great!" and best of all; "Her spirits are good." The person that knows my spirits is someone I only speak to about once a week.
I am not calling those people liars. They are telling the truth as they interpret it. They are seeing my act on the stage that is my world. The costumes, the makeup (Thank God!) the portrayal of expected emotions, and the utterances of the lines that everyone wants to hear. I have fooled them all, haha! Until now. Today, my smile felt real. Today, the feeling down deep inside matched the way my eyes crinkled with laughter. On a double class day, no less!
It's a journey. On a journey, you make progress. Some are quicker, some are slower. There is no minimum or maximum speed. Some progress is internal. Some is very public. And some...well, some has to do with coming to terms with your new self because all of the sudden it's not as new, it's who you are. It was an abrupt realization. In my mind I compared it to someone in the movies or on TV that is knocked out and not breathing.....and then WHAM! - they take that breath and they're still alive. My emotions did that recently. That isn't a complete victory over inner sadness - it's just a break from it. Like anything that starts, though, it can grow.
Today, I was doing great. The life-saving breath experience was still a memory that made me feel happy inside. My spirits were good today. It's about time, they've been bad inside for almost a year - in spite of what some others think. You just couldn't see it. Today, the double class did not incur my wrath. (Wrath for me usually being a lecture, haha.) Instead they incurred my humor and sly jokes that tricked them into behaving for me. I know that actually feeling the happiness I've faked for so long won't be permanent, but I pray it won't be a stranger, either.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Still no right or wrong? (With apologies to the Yankees...)
I don't know anymore. What's right, that is....or what's wrong. And this sentiment has nothing to do with people that have questioned me or told me "You better watch out...." I am a very fortunate woman; everyone supports me, cheers me on, tells me how smart I am, etc. I am obviously smart enough to surround myself with the right people, wink wink. Here's what I don't know - when do I throw out that "no right, no wrong" philosophy because it has become a crutch that allows me to be a spoiled brat that says "I want this...." and gets it, with no regard for anyone involved in whatever "it" is?
This is a subject that needs a lot of "thought". I wish it could be all light and fun. But it's not, and I do mean to approach it still. I want to ensure that I take the right path. I've seen and known people that use their circumstance as an excuse to be selfish. A "dowager countess", or "poor widow" attitude - where everyone in society still today makes excuses for their behavior.
I know that I am not a selfish bitch. Please don't look at this and think that you have to say "Oh, no, you're not, blah blah blah.....". I know that. I am talking more about an inner attitude than outward actions. I can behave myself with the best of them. It's what I think when something is happening that has changed. You would never know. If you know me at all, you know that it's very difficult to tell how I really, truly feel, much less what I think; unless I let you. I have a privacy fence around my true feelings that has very few gates.
I'm stepping into uncharted territory. I'm doing my best to finish: probate, transfers of property, vehicle sales and purchases, taxes, completing a year alone, making every decision, and always being the one to pet every animal. I've done it. I haven't been perfect, but I don't allow myself to be far off perfect. However, I am also now a single person. That's frightening. I mean.......I realized I was 'single' the night my husband died. I just didn't put all the accessories with it, because the all-engulfing sadness of losing your spouse doesn't let you do that. As I have traveled the road of time, I am able to put the feelings in their place. The sadness is there. So is laughter, pride, aggravation and loneliness. But it also has me realizing that a part of my life is wearing off. It's becoming a memory instead of a reality.
I suppose some people choose to put all their feelings under glass and live out the rest of their life in a sort of acid-free, preserved way. And others choose to shift the feelings as they change; to sort them and file them in the right place. Personally, I'm at a crossroads right now. I know that it's my prerogative to sort the feelings as I choose. I know that what's right for me is really what's right. But when the attitude and feelings of others could possibly be affected by my sorting....I have to start caring again. I have to start thinking along the lines of right and wrong. If you know me, you know that I can't be the snooty widow that does what she wants just because life slapped me in the face one time. There are things to consider.
I'm still wearing the ring, and probably always will. It's a thing; a beautiful thing. But its scratches don't actually cause it any pain. My attitude has to be different toward life and real feelings that actually affect real people. If I could, I would hide everyone's feelings to protect them, just as the silver was hidden from the Yankees. As it is, I will remember that right and wrong have re-surfaced for me and I will travel the road carefully, with the rules in mind. After all......tomorrow is another day!
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Briefcases and Tiffany hearts 2/8/14
There were these guys when I was in fifth or sixth grade. They were smart. They played kickball, did a little music, but mostly they were the smart guys. Then all of the sudden, they all started carrying briefcases to school. A briefcase - like a Wall Street broker or something. The rest of us just giggled a bit and went back to band, swim team, staking out our favorite equipment on the playground (do the words 'witch's hat' spark a memory, anyone?) and yes - we all played massive kickball tournaments, even briefcase guys. When the briefcases started their run, I was carrying a clarinet, some played sports, some loved makeup, clothes and shoes, others were under the hood of a car before they could drive. It's as if, somewhere around ten or eleven years old, a great imaginary dividing ceremony takes place and sends us to our group.
If you're a reader, you are also recognizing this idea from some great fiction out there. "Divergent", the "Harry Potter" series, many others play on this theme, that you all of the sudden 'grow up' and 'find your group' at that age. The thing is, it's an eternal theme because it rings true in real life. I watch it happen with the darlings I teach, year after year. In fourth grade, they start 'hanging around' the kids that are most like them, instead of just anyone. Girls who take dance outside of school stick together, etc. And if you think I'm giving an idyllic, fairy-tale view of this natural separation, I will throw this out there: I referee more mean comments, hurt feelings and actual tears simply because very young friends are growing apart and they don't have the emotional maturity to realize it's okay, you can miss that friend, you can make an effort to still be friends, or you can remain acquaintances. They don't know. It's their first bump in the road of all their friendships and relationships to come. By fifth grade, the groups set themselves. I give them a talk each year about moving on to middle school and finding their 'group'. I love when they come back to me and visit, and band (or choir, or orchestra, or theater...or even football or art) is their whole life, all their friends are from that group and their grades are fantastic and they are headed for college.
I've been living the very adult version of 'finding my group' for the past nine months. Before nine months ago today, I didn't belong to any group that had experienced tragic loss. Loss of grandparents, older aunts and uncles, yes. But I had lost no parents, siblings, or children. I didn't have that frame of reference before May 8th. I started thinking this way because I saw an image that made me reflect on the changes that take place long after you find your first 'group'.
Tiffany hearts? Yes, they made me think. I wore these earrings on Thursday and Friday. Invariably, every time I looked in the mirror, one heart was upside down. I fixed it, tightened the back, but to no avail. Of course, the earrings being hearts, it made me think - my heart has felt upside-down lately. It just jumped out at me that we always need to find our group. Life changes, and life changes us. I'm still the person I was before, but with a new addition to my personality. And it makes me gravitate toward certain people. I have been able to have better heart-to-heart conversations with friends that have experienced loss than with others lately. I'm not saying "I'm not your friend anymore" to anyone. I'm simply feeling more of a kinship with those that always have their 'event' in the front of their minds, just as I do.
The upside-down heart brought that home to me. A right-side-up heart looks settled, closed, happy, and states 'don't change me'! An upside-down heart is one that has been turned over and is now looking to find its way back. Nothing is settled anymore. That is how my earrings taught me a little something about myself this week. Most of me is settled. But there's a part that's been moving toward a bit of a different group. And that's okay. I think every heart should have an upside-down section. It keeps us from turning inward and never experiencing new things.
The briefcase guys didn't keep carrying briefcases into high school. The band kids learned to make friends with the athletes. Finding your group is an ongoing process, because life is an ongoing journey. When you look in the mirror and find out that part of your heart is upside-down at the moment, be happy that in spite of all, you're not too set in your ways to change just a bit. Because the road twists and turns and you'll be left behind if you don't.
If you're a reader, you are also recognizing this idea from some great fiction out there. "Divergent", the "Harry Potter" series, many others play on this theme, that you all of the sudden 'grow up' and 'find your group' at that age. The thing is, it's an eternal theme because it rings true in real life. I watch it happen with the darlings I teach, year after year. In fourth grade, they start 'hanging around' the kids that are most like them, instead of just anyone. Girls who take dance outside of school stick together, etc. And if you think I'm giving an idyllic, fairy-tale view of this natural separation, I will throw this out there: I referee more mean comments, hurt feelings and actual tears simply because very young friends are growing apart and they don't have the emotional maturity to realize it's okay, you can miss that friend, you can make an effort to still be friends, or you can remain acquaintances. They don't know. It's their first bump in the road of all their friendships and relationships to come. By fifth grade, the groups set themselves. I give them a talk each year about moving on to middle school and finding their 'group'. I love when they come back to me and visit, and band (or choir, or orchestra, or theater...or even football or art) is their whole life, all their friends are from that group and their grades are fantastic and they are headed for college.
I've been living the very adult version of 'finding my group' for the past nine months. Before nine months ago today, I didn't belong to any group that had experienced tragic loss. Loss of grandparents, older aunts and uncles, yes. But I had lost no parents, siblings, or children. I didn't have that frame of reference before May 8th. I started thinking this way because I saw an image that made me reflect on the changes that take place long after you find your first 'group'.
The upside-down heart brought that home to me. A right-side-up heart looks settled, closed, happy, and states 'don't change me'! An upside-down heart is one that has been turned over and is now looking to find its way back. Nothing is settled anymore. That is how my earrings taught me a little something about myself this week. Most of me is settled. But there's a part that's been moving toward a bit of a different group. And that's okay. I think every heart should have an upside-down section. It keeps us from turning inward and never experiencing new things.
The briefcase guys didn't keep carrying briefcases into high school. The band kids learned to make friends with the athletes. Finding your group is an ongoing process, because life is an ongoing journey. When you look in the mirror and find out that part of your heart is upside-down at the moment, be happy that in spite of all, you're not too set in your ways to change just a bit. Because the road twists and turns and you'll be left behind if you don't.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
Why the Daffodil? 2/1/14
Why the daffodil? You know the daffodil in my profile picture? They are one of my favorite flowers. When we lived in England, we had this sprawling house on an enormous yard with trees, landscaping, grapevines, a full row of apple and pear trees.......and daffodil bulbs hidden all under the grass of the front yard. Every year, when the grey skies would finally lift a bit and spring would give us a warm day or two, my front 'garden' was a sea of yellow daffodils. I had never had them in any of my yards or gardens before that, so I was thrilled at their beauty and the ease with which the re-appeared every year.
Last year, I bought a bag of daffodil bulbs on a whim at Home Depot. I had cleaned some pesky plants from around one of my pine trees in the back yard, leaving a small bed that was begging for some prettiness. The bag sat on the back porch for a few weeks until I finally got up and dug holes to plant them. I surrounded my tree with daffodil bulbs, then had enough left over to line the edge of the flower bed up front. I crossed my fingers for them and forgot about them.
Well, I didn't totally forget. I went out back to the tree every few days, looking for signs of life from underground. Sure enough, little green blades eventually forced themselves through the hard-packed dirt, and grew a little taller day by day. Eventually, one of the blades had a lump at the top - a lump destined to be a flower. In the time between planting those bulbs and seeing the possibility of a flower, we had some freezing weather, some very warm weather, stretches of no rain, suddenly too much rain - everything but snow and ice. Not last year. The leaves didn't care. They grew taller and taller, until I predicted: "My daffodils will bloom by Easter, I can tell!" I was very excited. Bloom they did, and I took a little time out for a photo session. The flower in the picture is indeed one of MY daffodils. I only brought a few inside to a vase. I left them to put a smile on the yard. It wasn't a sea, but it was a happy spot. By the time they were gone, so was Scott.
The brown leaves wither away and you forget the bulbs are under the dirt. They've been under there for almost a year, waiting, preparing, letting nature guide them as to when those leaves should start their journey again. They've endured extreme heat, flooding rains, freezing temperatures, sleet, and numerous critters, domesticated and not. They just know they are supposed to stay right there underground until nature says rebirth must happen.
The experience of the daffodil bulb (MY daffodils) is similar to the walk of grief. I have endured paperwork, meetings, making huge decisions, breaking down, working in spite of all, and trying to be wise for a future that could maybe ever be happy again. I'm getting there. It's as natural as the daffodil leaves that I laugh a little more again. That lady carrying five copies of a court document out of Office Depot? That was me. It's moving along as nature intended that probate court is finished and I must fill out more applications, file more paperwork....but it's leading somewhere. About a week ago, I noticed the tips of the leaves peeking out of the ground. The flowers will be back this year. Nature has said "it's time", even though there was a freeze last week and another predicted for next week. They know how to time it. And they are strong. They are hardy. A beautiful flower that spreads joy for a season, then bends its head to go away and prepare to be reborn the next year.......that is "why the daffodil".
Last year, I bought a bag of daffodil bulbs on a whim at Home Depot. I had cleaned some pesky plants from around one of my pine trees in the back yard, leaving a small bed that was begging for some prettiness. The bag sat on the back porch for a few weeks until I finally got up and dug holes to plant them. I surrounded my tree with daffodil bulbs, then had enough left over to line the edge of the flower bed up front. I crossed my fingers for them and forgot about them.
Well, I didn't totally forget. I went out back to the tree every few days, looking for signs of life from underground. Sure enough, little green blades eventually forced themselves through the hard-packed dirt, and grew a little taller day by day. Eventually, one of the blades had a lump at the top - a lump destined to be a flower. In the time between planting those bulbs and seeing the possibility of a flower, we had some freezing weather, some very warm weather, stretches of no rain, suddenly too much rain - everything but snow and ice. Not last year. The leaves didn't care. They grew taller and taller, until I predicted: "My daffodils will bloom by Easter, I can tell!" I was very excited. Bloom they did, and I took a little time out for a photo session. The flower in the picture is indeed one of MY daffodils. I only brought a few inside to a vase. I left them to put a smile on the yard. It wasn't a sea, but it was a happy spot. By the time they were gone, so was Scott.
The brown leaves wither away and you forget the bulbs are under the dirt. They've been under there for almost a year, waiting, preparing, letting nature guide them as to when those leaves should start their journey again. They've endured extreme heat, flooding rains, freezing temperatures, sleet, and numerous critters, domesticated and not. They just know they are supposed to stay right there underground until nature says rebirth must happen.
The experience of the daffodil bulb (MY daffodils) is similar to the walk of grief. I have endured paperwork, meetings, making huge decisions, breaking down, working in spite of all, and trying to be wise for a future that could maybe ever be happy again. I'm getting there. It's as natural as the daffodil leaves that I laugh a little more again. That lady carrying five copies of a court document out of Office Depot? That was me. It's moving along as nature intended that probate court is finished and I must fill out more applications, file more paperwork....but it's leading somewhere. About a week ago, I noticed the tips of the leaves peeking out of the ground. The flowers will be back this year. Nature has said "it's time", even though there was a freeze last week and another predicted for next week. They know how to time it. And they are strong. They are hardy. A beautiful flower that spreads joy for a season, then bends its head to go away and prepare to be reborn the next year.......that is "why the daffodil".
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
I'm a fake and a phony 1/1/14
I spend a lot of time convincing myself through words that I type that I am trying to be positive. Convincing others that I have a healthy attitude. Trying to find little nuggets of truth and inspiration in everyday life and prove that I'm grateful for what I still have. Then a day or an event happens and I'm a fake. If I said how I really feel, I'm afraid that everyone around me would quote Sandy from "Grease"; "You're a fake and a phony, and I wish I'd never laid eyes on you!".
I'm not well. I'm still pouting. And with all the time that goes by, I find more to pout about. Every normal obstacle that blocks my path feels like a personal affront to my widow-hood. The car won't start? That's because I'm a widow. The dog got out? That's because my husband died. It's silly, I know, but when I go to bed alone at night, and wake up alone every morning, the void is an entity that has taken on powers of great proportion. The void of him seems to cause every little bit of trouble I have.
And so the year ended yesterday. All day long, I was extremely sad. Tears were close at any given moment. I tried to explain it - the end of the year he died, entering a new year without him, an overload of people when I've gotten used to quiet, all kinds of "reasons". The real reason? I think my life sucks now, and outwardly I put on a brave face and list everything for which I'm grateful. Most days, I can convince myself. Most days, gratefulness wins. But you know what? It will be a long time before I don't pout anymore. Expect that from me. You can ask "what's wrong?". But you can also correctly say, 90% of the time; "Oh, one of those days, huh?" I'm going to make it. I just don't think it's going to be a very scenic route. My apologies, but I'm pretty sure my excuse is a good one.
I'm not well. I'm still pouting. And with all the time that goes by, I find more to pout about. Every normal obstacle that blocks my path feels like a personal affront to my widow-hood. The car won't start? That's because I'm a widow. The dog got out? That's because my husband died. It's silly, I know, but when I go to bed alone at night, and wake up alone every morning, the void is an entity that has taken on powers of great proportion. The void of him seems to cause every little bit of trouble I have.
And so the year ended yesterday. All day long, I was extremely sad. Tears were close at any given moment. I tried to explain it - the end of the year he died, entering a new year without him, an overload of people when I've gotten used to quiet, all kinds of "reasons". The real reason? I think my life sucks now, and outwardly I put on a brave face and list everything for which I'm grateful. Most days, I can convince myself. Most days, gratefulness wins. But you know what? It will be a long time before I don't pout anymore. Expect that from me. You can ask "what's wrong?". But you can also correctly say, 90% of the time; "Oh, one of those days, huh?" I'm going to make it. I just don't think it's going to be a very scenic route. My apologies, but I'm pretty sure my excuse is a good one.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
A Fingernail Fable 12/8/13
Friday morning hurry-up. All my fault, because I just didn't want to get out of bed. Have you ever been there? Life is happening outside your bedroom, outside your house, people are driving, drinking coffee, already having meetings......and your bed is just so warm and cozy that it's an actual argument with yourself to throw back the covers and stand up. We've all been there, I guess. When I do that, I can adjust the getting ready and still make it to work on time, but I still hurry. So during the hurry-up, I bent a fingernail backward trying to fasten my seat belt. A small reminder to slow down, it's all going to be there, whether I hurry to fasten the belt or do it at normal speed! Smoothing down the fingernail, I drove to work. The school was still there.
I'm not used to having any sort of long fingernails. A combination of weak nails and piano playing has always left me without nails as an accessory. Except for the few years of fake nails, they have always just been short and.... there. In the past eight months, they're stronger. They grow. I have to cut them and file them down. It's very strange to me - did a chemical change happen in my body when I entered grief? Or was it due to happen anyway? I don't know, but I do know that these knives that extend from my fingertips - and the care they require - is a new sensation.
Later Friday evening, the same backward-bent nail caught on something. You know, that sensation when it brushes cloth and you feel that little drag? I took a look. There was a cut in the middle of the tip. Not a big one, but like some tiny scissors just made one cut. I went to the place where I now keep the clippers and newly-acquired file, trimmed it and filed it smooth. It lost a little length, but it's still there. I suppose that was the price of decorating the tree. As Saturday came and went, more nails lost their way to the housework/decoration activities. They were shorter, but they were still there.
Today, Sunday, makes eight months since he's been gone. I don't really put much stock in anniversaries, but having made this portion of the grief journey personally, I see a truth. I slowly file away my old life. It's still there, it's just shorter. I can buy the low-fat eggnog now, there's nobody left to complain about it. When it's just me home, I have music playing. When it was just us, it was always the television. Still the same machine, just different. When a situation changes, I adapt. Humans adapt. The situation is still there, but we carry on and find ways to make it.
Adaptation isn't easy. Sometimes it even hurts! I took all the lights off the fifty-foot long stair garland yesterday. Those lights have been wound around that garland for so many years that they were caught in the little wires in certain places. As I separated the lights from the thin little wire inside the garland, I felt the thin wire slice right under my fingernail. OUCH! Who says decorating for Christmas is fun! After I finished the garland experience, (a new garland is now required....) I checked the fingernail damage. Sure enough, trim it, file it, it's still there. Only I think the cut might leave a little scar. And so it goes - the old life is still there, it's just been adapted, filed away, had its shape changed......with a few scars to show for the hurt along the way.
I'm not used to having any sort of long fingernails. A combination of weak nails and piano playing has always left me without nails as an accessory. Except for the few years of fake nails, they have always just been short and.... there. In the past eight months, they're stronger. They grow. I have to cut them and file them down. It's very strange to me - did a chemical change happen in my body when I entered grief? Or was it due to happen anyway? I don't know, but I do know that these knives that extend from my fingertips - and the care they require - is a new sensation.
Later Friday evening, the same backward-bent nail caught on something. You know, that sensation when it brushes cloth and you feel that little drag? I took a look. There was a cut in the middle of the tip. Not a big one, but like some tiny scissors just made one cut. I went to the place where I now keep the clippers and newly-acquired file, trimmed it and filed it smooth. It lost a little length, but it's still there. I suppose that was the price of decorating the tree. As Saturday came and went, more nails lost their way to the housework/decoration activities. They were shorter, but they were still there.
Today, Sunday, makes eight months since he's been gone. I don't really put much stock in anniversaries, but having made this portion of the grief journey personally, I see a truth. I slowly file away my old life. It's still there, it's just shorter. I can buy the low-fat eggnog now, there's nobody left to complain about it. When it's just me home, I have music playing. When it was just us, it was always the television. Still the same machine, just different. When a situation changes, I adapt. Humans adapt. The situation is still there, but we carry on and find ways to make it.
Adaptation isn't easy. Sometimes it even hurts! I took all the lights off the fifty-foot long stair garland yesterday. Those lights have been wound around that garland for so many years that they were caught in the little wires in certain places. As I separated the lights from the thin little wire inside the garland, I felt the thin wire slice right under my fingernail. OUCH! Who says decorating for Christmas is fun! After I finished the garland experience, (a new garland is now required....) I checked the fingernail damage. Sure enough, trim it, file it, it's still there. Only I think the cut might leave a little scar. And so it goes - the old life is still there, it's just been adapted, filed away, had its shape changed......with a few scars to show for the hurt along the way.
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Coming Up Next!
I watch a little too much reality TV. I have all kinds of excuses, too. "But it's about cooking!" "I just can't wait to see what they do next!" "They remind me of my family!" I have also justified watching certain shows by saying that I would never watch another type. I personally have never watched any type of "Survivor" (that's why hotels were invented), "Bachelor" (I went through everyone's drama when I was that age) or "Big Brother". Well, not exactly true on Big Brother. It's just that that the only one I ever watched was a British celebrity version in 2001. Comedian Jack Dee brought his packed suitcase to the elimination meeting every week. He ended up winning. No other version could ever beat that, in my mind.
One staple of the reality show is the send-off to commercial. "Coming up next on _____ ______!" Then they show you thirty seconds to one minute of what you'll see in the next half hour. After doing that, when the show returns from commercial (fast-forward time, in today's TIVO/DVR world), they show you the last minute that you saw before "Coming up next". You hear and see the exact same thirty seconds that you saw right before "Coming Up" and commercials. Finally, it steps into new footage. Some night when I'm really bored, I think I'll get the stopwatch and time exactly how much new material I get to watch during an hour show of that type. My theory: Since everyone records their shows and forwards through the commercials, we get less show. It's a trade-off for luxury. Or, somebody really important in TV-land thought that the old education adage "I'm going to tell you what I'm going to teach you, I'm going to teach it to you, then I'm going to tell you what I taught you" needed to be plucked from teaching (where they still encourage that mind-set, another subject) and made into editing policy for television shows.
I wondered, while watching Hell's Kitchen, one of the most notorious for repeat-editing, (but it's about cooking!) what would it be like if we had "Coming up next" in life? What if we could know what's just around the corner? Not many years down the line, but the next week, or month at the most? If that did happen, would the "editors" have any rules? We won't show you death, but we will a flat tire. You can't know when your baby will arrive, but you can see that you're sneezing and have a cold. Those are just silly thoughts, of course. I do believe that my mind thinks in that way right now because my reality in losing my husband is this: there was absolutely no way to predict it, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to change it. "Coming Up Next" for me, life without him. How to handle that?
I don't lie to any of you when you ask how I am. I only say "ok", or explain that it's one day at a time, or good days and bad days. But I've discovered that I hold my true feelings in a fortress. I can cry a bit with family or very good friends. I can exhibit being 'down' or listless to anyone. But I prefer to cry, weep, sob, whatever you call it, by myself. Sometimes my girls will catch me. But I don't want anyone to catch me. I also spend time alone looking at pictures and remembering. I guess I'm just reviewing life so far before I take a breath and start living it again. I really don't know why, so this is not an explanation. It's just a statement of fact. Learning that life is short, unpredictable, and un-changeable just makes you break down, over and over. Also, there is no time limitation on when you break down. I'm hurting more at almost three months gone than I did the first week.
None of us have "Coming Up Next" in life. We have to live in two mind-sets: one to take care of the moment at hand, and the other to take care of eternity. So, maybe the TV shows have it right. You live, love, work, play, - all the things that make you "you" - and you also prepare for the future, as well as reviewing the past. You can glean your own practical explanations from those very general words, because everyone is beautifully different in this world. Life is not reality TV - but we play out our own unconscious version of "Coming Up Next". Excuse me if I take a few minutes to review what has happened before I breathe deeply and jump into the new footage.
One staple of the reality show is the send-off to commercial. "Coming up next on _____ ______!" Then they show you thirty seconds to one minute of what you'll see in the next half hour. After doing that, when the show returns from commercial (fast-forward time, in today's TIVO/DVR world), they show you the last minute that you saw before "Coming up next". You hear and see the exact same thirty seconds that you saw right before "Coming Up" and commercials. Finally, it steps into new footage. Some night when I'm really bored, I think I'll get the stopwatch and time exactly how much new material I get to watch during an hour show of that type. My theory: Since everyone records their shows and forwards through the commercials, we get less show. It's a trade-off for luxury. Or, somebody really important in TV-land thought that the old education adage "I'm going to tell you what I'm going to teach you, I'm going to teach it to you, then I'm going to tell you what I taught you" needed to be plucked from teaching (where they still encourage that mind-set, another subject) and made into editing policy for television shows.
I wondered, while watching Hell's Kitchen, one of the most notorious for repeat-editing, (but it's about cooking!) what would it be like if we had "Coming up next" in life? What if we could know what's just around the corner? Not many years down the line, but the next week, or month at the most? If that did happen, would the "editors" have any rules? We won't show you death, but we will a flat tire. You can't know when your baby will arrive, but you can see that you're sneezing and have a cold. Those are just silly thoughts, of course. I do believe that my mind thinks in that way right now because my reality in losing my husband is this: there was absolutely no way to predict it, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to change it. "Coming Up Next" for me, life without him. How to handle that?
I don't lie to any of you when you ask how I am. I only say "ok", or explain that it's one day at a time, or good days and bad days. But I've discovered that I hold my true feelings in a fortress. I can cry a bit with family or very good friends. I can exhibit being 'down' or listless to anyone. But I prefer to cry, weep, sob, whatever you call it, by myself. Sometimes my girls will catch me. But I don't want anyone to catch me. I also spend time alone looking at pictures and remembering. I guess I'm just reviewing life so far before I take a breath and start living it again. I really don't know why, so this is not an explanation. It's just a statement of fact. Learning that life is short, unpredictable, and un-changeable just makes you break down, over and over. Also, there is no time limitation on when you break down. I'm hurting more at almost three months gone than I did the first week.
None of us have "Coming Up Next" in life. We have to live in two mind-sets: one to take care of the moment at hand, and the other to take care of eternity. So, maybe the TV shows have it right. You live, love, work, play, - all the things that make you "you" - and you also prepare for the future, as well as reviewing the past. You can glean your own practical explanations from those very general words, because everyone is beautifully different in this world. Life is not reality TV - but we play out our own unconscious version of "Coming Up Next". Excuse me if I take a few minutes to review what has happened before I breathe deeply and jump into the new footage.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
I'm not who I used to be - but why? 4/3/13
I'M NOT WHO I USED TO BE!!!
I may see you after 20 to 30 years, at a reunion, or while visiting my family. I look older, not skinny anymore, and the face - still smiley. The makeup still done. The rings, bracelets, earrings - still the same style. But you don't know me. I am not who I used to be.
I may have the same smile, the same laugh, and the same old eyes. But I'm not that person anymore. I keep that sweet, innocent, faith-that-could-change-the-world girl in a special place in my heart. Every now and then, she has to surface. It may be to comfort someone, it may be to fake it through a conversation, or it may be to defuse a situation with her peaceful, positive attitude. But she stays put away unless needed. She is not who I am anymore.
What changed? Whose fault is it? I have tried to analyze it so many times. Was it moving a lot? Was it having children? Was it family? Friends? Church people? Disappointments? The answer is yes. As I have traveled the road from youth through middle age, everything has affected my beliefs and my core values. Some things that I would have condemned when I was young are now things that I can not only accept, but stand for.
What I wonder is - does this happen in every generation? Could a 16-year-old that was raised with slavery turn into a 50-year-old that ran an equal opportunity business? Did a 20-year-old that campaigned for prohibition later become a middle-aged social drinker? I'm sure it did happen. And so...I am one of the ones that has changed. But what about those that don't? Really- what's it like to be one of those people?
I have many friends on a certain social network that are from my high school days. I sometimes take a "stalker-ish" look at their particular page to see if they've changed like I have. Sometimes I don't need to look. Some of them are still saying, endorsing, and espousing the same ideas and doctrines that we were fed in high school. Some of them still have that change-the-world faith. I'm a bit jealous of them in particular. Others drop hints that they too, have changed. Others declare it openly. I just wonder how I "landed" in the changed group.
"Jaded" - an older word, meaning hardened, cynical, negative. Am I jaded? I hope not. My career allows me to be a positive influence on little children all day long. I couldn't manage that successfully if I were jaded. But then something happens. A little five-year-old girl tells me that mom and dad were fighting all night and dad threw mom down to the ground. A nine-year-old boy tells me that his new step dad doesn't like him and makes him do chores from the time he gets home from school until bedtime. The special beast that is the preteen almost-middle-schooler learns to get attention by putting down others hurtfully and publicly. I always jump in and help, bridge, strive to foster healing. It's my instinct. But every instance over the years has taken away my innocence and belief that I can change the world. Therein lies the problem. As individuals, we cannot change the world.
I think part of my answer (to the "how did I end up this way? question) has come to me while sharing these thoughts. The blind faith gains sight - or insight - into particular situations when they cross my path. And I - I do the grown-up thing and allow these situations to change me in the way I think honors and protects the precious souls and feelings of the individuals in this world that receive hurt after hurt. Whether those individuals are children or adults, I think I owe them fairness. And kindness. And a listening ear and understanding heart. I owe them love. And if love has been what changed me, so be it.
I may see you after 20 to 30 years, at a reunion, or while visiting my family. I look older, not skinny anymore, and the face - still smiley. The makeup still done. The rings, bracelets, earrings - still the same style. But you don't know me. I am not who I used to be.
I may have the same smile, the same laugh, and the same old eyes. But I'm not that person anymore. I keep that sweet, innocent, faith-that-could-change-the-world girl in a special place in my heart. Every now and then, she has to surface. It may be to comfort someone, it may be to fake it through a conversation, or it may be to defuse a situation with her peaceful, positive attitude. But she stays put away unless needed. She is not who I am anymore.
What changed? Whose fault is it? I have tried to analyze it so many times. Was it moving a lot? Was it having children? Was it family? Friends? Church people? Disappointments? The answer is yes. As I have traveled the road from youth through middle age, everything has affected my beliefs and my core values. Some things that I would have condemned when I was young are now things that I can not only accept, but stand for.
What I wonder is - does this happen in every generation? Could a 16-year-old that was raised with slavery turn into a 50-year-old that ran an equal opportunity business? Did a 20-year-old that campaigned for prohibition later become a middle-aged social drinker? I'm sure it did happen. And so...I am one of the ones that has changed. But what about those that don't? Really- what's it like to be one of those people?
I have many friends on a certain social network that are from my high school days. I sometimes take a "stalker-ish" look at their particular page to see if they've changed like I have. Sometimes I don't need to look. Some of them are still saying, endorsing, and espousing the same ideas and doctrines that we were fed in high school. Some of them still have that change-the-world faith. I'm a bit jealous of them in particular. Others drop hints that they too, have changed. Others declare it openly. I just wonder how I "landed" in the changed group.
"Jaded" - an older word, meaning hardened, cynical, negative. Am I jaded? I hope not. My career allows me to be a positive influence on little children all day long. I couldn't manage that successfully if I were jaded. But then something happens. A little five-year-old girl tells me that mom and dad were fighting all night and dad threw mom down to the ground. A nine-year-old boy tells me that his new step dad doesn't like him and makes him do chores from the time he gets home from school until bedtime. The special beast that is the preteen almost-middle-schooler learns to get attention by putting down others hurtfully and publicly. I always jump in and help, bridge, strive to foster healing. It's my instinct. But every instance over the years has taken away my innocence and belief that I can change the world. Therein lies the problem. As individuals, we cannot change the world.
I think part of my answer (to the "how did I end up this way? question) has come to me while sharing these thoughts. The blind faith gains sight - or insight - into particular situations when they cross my path. And I - I do the grown-up thing and allow these situations to change me in the way I think honors and protects the precious souls and feelings of the individuals in this world that receive hurt after hurt. Whether those individuals are children or adults, I think I owe them fairness. And kindness. And a listening ear and understanding heart. I owe them love. And if love has been what changed me, so be it.
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