Just yesterday we had that long distance comfort between
birth and college. Now it’s a mere Six
months away. Six months of action,
memories, sweet words, learning, wisdom.
She came into this world like a calm 20 year old…like she’s always meant
to be here, bound to make great change, wiser than this world. She’ll manage all matter of big and tiny
details just perfectly on her own…the best kind of learning often is hands
on. My main focus has always been to
make sure she’s comfortable in her own skin.
That she knows who and whose she is.
That she carries a confidence that is unshaken by this untethered world,
a lesson that never ends.
I’ve been failing on my job recently…a bit distracted,
wastefully busy. All good intentions, but
the priority is misaligned. She should have
always been closer to the top…but she quietly takes care so well, I took her
for granted. Not wanting to workout with
her because I’m a morning gal…selfish.
Headphones in and YouTube stares…isolated. Reclining after dinner…unhealthy. For a mere six months, she still needs me. Headphones
are being tucked away, screens are being limited, feet and minds are
moving. Six months of filling her confidence bucket to
overflowing. Six months of endless love
and listening. I’ve got Six months.
Today is the day we make a move in a strange and unknown
direction. Research, conversations, prayers, lists, visits…I’ve done more
digging on this single decision than all of my biggest decisions combined. Marriage, children, home-ownership, starting a
business…all followed my gut. This decision, however, affects more than myself,
so I’ve lingered in the safe places for a bit longer. At some point, an action
is required…a blind step in some direction. I can stew and simmer, dig and
deliberate but today’s the day we jump.
Maya & Cole are two completely different glorious
beings. From day one, they’ve required
different styles of parenting, different ways to reason, different motivations,
different definitions of love. It's no surprise that they also
have different ways of learning. Today I submit paperwork that releases him from school and we begin the wild world
of home-schooling.
So many fears. Again,
that negative voice speaks I’m no teacher, you may fail, he may suffer, others
will judge. Those fears apply to
almost any decision. The way I understand it, decision making has one final outcome. Finding a thousand opinions in favor and equal
amounts against, the pros and cons list
may possibly equal out. We can remain in
the status-quo safe places or we can follow another path. Ultimately, after all the digging, diving,
and solid hours of prayer, one foot must finally move in front of the
other. No longer satisfied in the safe
places, today we jump.
I was grumpy this weekend. Overwhelm, frustration or simple hunger delivered me to an unhappy place.
Deciding to separate myself for some
deep breaths and a chance to find peaceful ground, I stepped into the shower to
shake off the funk. So often, the shower
is exactly where wisdom falls. Vulnerable,
exposed, no distractions, that still small voice seems so much clearer. That morning, perhaps even in that moment, a
young bride was saying forever goodbye to her 38 year old husband. Suffering, hospital-bound, he missed the
birth of their daughter. His eyes never laid gaze on her tiny hands. A new widow finding new normal
without her love. Closing my eyes, I picture waves of love washing over
her. Sending a complete stranger love
predictably refreshing my own buckets, my own annoyance now seems so
insignificant. New perspective gained, I’m
able to face the world again. Downstairs, Tim recounts the viral letter from a dying
27 year old Cancer patient. Affirmation to shake off the small stuff, yet
again.
It’s the annoying, petty,
insignificant stuff that blocks the action of love, of living. Constantly
returning to distract. For me, it’s mom
guilt, body image, future worries, long to-do lists, work overwhelm, friend
guilt, wife guilt, more guilt. Get out
of my way, petty, for proper perspective.
Gratitude. Love. Sending it,
thinking it, being it, speaking it, living it, savoring it. I want to sit protected in that place, safe
from small annoyances and big griefs, but the world and insecurity happens. It seems the answer is to locate the petty, name it, squash it, then savor gratitude, receive and send love. Then repeat. It’s
a constant battle to regain perspective, a worthy battle, no doubt. A battle within which I’m
likely not alone.
I’ve been stretching lately.
Not only a morning yoga routine to get my mind and muscles moving, but
also stretching conversations, comfort zones…asking the hard questions. Safer to stick to the generally prescribed
conversation topics, I’ve recently veered from comfortable into honest and what
emerged on the other side was nothing short of delightful.
An unexpected date night with Tim produced the generic
topics of children, but once depleted, the quiet settled. Not satisfied with the quiet, the questions
came…then another and another. A healthy balance of listening, commenting, and
contributing turned historically triggered and guarded conversations into a
better, healthier version. It was
exactly what we both needed.
Soon enough, the babes will depart to build their own lives and we’ll return
to us. After years of kid-focused
living, that could be a little awkward…I’m thrilled to find these bread crumbs
back to the beginning.
Then again, over a decadent dinner with a dear friend,
conversation freely flowed. Often easy
to take friends for granted, I stretched to carve out a little time to lavish,
to absorb, to celebrate. I stretched
again with honest conversation…the easy path would be to simply agree, yet
conversations lead to unexpected places with each fresh perspective. No
false airs, no expectation, no end game, easy conversation, laughter leading to
insight, honesty. Dreams, goals, worries, revelations, histories, all things
worthy to share with a good friend. All things layering into a better version
of me and a healthier definition of friendship.
Great things lay on
the other side of a good stretch.
Two weeks without writing is leaving me itchy
inside. So much to spill so let’s begin the brain dump.
Buying gifts days before Christmas left us without a shopping
cart, so instead, the store offered us a body sized clear bag…and when anyone
gives you a body sized bag it must be filled. (Brilliant marketing, Bonton). Shortly
afterwards, an employee noticed me struggling and offered to stash my finds at
the front counter. Instant relief. Her name was Lisa, so that was easy for me to
remember. Once we finally cashed out, there was Lisa again, offering her sweet
smile and since I’m all about customer service and love finding it’s rare
appearance, I made sure to tell her how happy I was. She saw a customer struggling, stepped up to
help, offered refreshing chatter, and a smile.
I was grateful and she was overwhelmed by my feedback. She got teary and offered me a hug telling me
she was going thru some stressful situations outside of work and really needed
to hear something positive that day. Lesson
learned: Freely offer sincere compliments
because you never know who might really need one.
Over Christmas, we jetted to Las Vegas to explore, laugh and make new
memories. The concept that we were
headed to sin-city on the holiest of holidays wasn’t lost on me. The start was a bit questionable…three
parking tickets, a hotel mix-up, a 2-hour flight delay and a seat that wouldn’t
recline. But like anywhere you travel,
there is potential for both good and bad…the art is to find the good. And we found it in spades (excuse the Vegas
pun)… The kids climbing magnificent mountains boasting striking layers of
multi-colored rocks, sweet Norma in Target with her southern drawl and sassy
round black glasses, bent-over-belly-laughing with the checkout gal at the absolute
best BBQ joint ever, taking turns being pampered in a luxurious automated spa
chair, savoring hand crafted cocktails with dear friends after a long day of
sensory overload, enjoying artful story telling of cross country adventures by
visiting family members. Lesson
relearned: Look for the good…it’s always there.
Part of the reason we travel over Christmas is to make new
memories to enhance (they never really replace, nor would I want them to) the final
days spent with Mom before she passed on January 2, 2015. Yesterday was three years. Close friends have marked that date on their
calendar and sent thoughtful texts checking in. I was okay yesterday…productive,
positive. When tears didn’t come all
day, I wondered if that was the last of it… is this how it will be moving
forward? Incrementally lighter each day…THEN today, I heard her song on the way home from a ridiculously lovely trip to
Trader Joes. I Can Only Imagine by Mercy
Me had me with deep thoughts and wet face.
I like to imagine her experiencing sheer bliss every moment, holding
babies that were delivered stillborn until their mammas can join them (she was
a Maternity nurse and while she never shared stories, I know she remembered
each one)…I see her strolling thru gardens of lilacs, her soft sweet hands
entwined with Jesus, I see her young, vibrant, colorful, twinkly-eye
smiling. I can only imagine. Instantly thankful that she hand picked that
song…I can only imagine the comfort it gave her and the comfort it now gives
me.
Lesson learned: The difference between sadness and joy is often a slight shift of perspective.
It’s been a long holiday of lessons learned and
relearned. I’m one beyond blessed gal
and if you’re still reading, I want to say thank you. Thank you for sharing this journey with
me. You are pretty awesome stuff and I’m
sure you have stories of your own…I’d like to hear them. Put it out there...
someone needs to hear it and will perhaps learn lessons alongside you as
well. xo
I’ve procrastinated as much as possible this morning…putting
off the time I dedicate to being still, hammering away at the keys as it often
dredges up deep truths. Annoying, irritating, gritty truths. I don’t have to count the days to know in my
soul it’s that time of year…this time, three years ago, mom took a spiral
decline and hours spent bedside simply were not enough. I know it’s that time…I
don’t want to admit it, I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to think
about it. Keeping my schedule tightly
packed, mind full of distracting thoughts, busy little brain…but still it
pulls, rises, tugs and plucks, needing to be acknowledged. I don’t want to
identify with sadness…a thousand other daughters have lost their mothers. My head is satisfied with her loss…she
suffered, fought, and I know exactly where she is and that I’ll see her
again. That should bring me enough
peace. I’m neither happy, sad, or mad,
but still those emotions rise. I’m flat, un-bubbly, care-less. I prefer bubbly,
approachable, chatty, smiley…just not feeling it today. Or yesterday.
There’s so much to do this time of year, so much cheerful possibility…I’m
angry at the process…the temporary yuck.
Less of an over-thinker more of a procrastinator, I become paralyzed by possibilities. A wonderful concept settles in, then
compounded by many others, it becomes shelved and nothing at all gets
accomplished. A basket of quick bites to
family members counting breaths with their hospice bound mother…coulda shoulda,
but just not executing. Meanwhile, the brainless tasks of dishes and laundry
are quickly completed. The easy stuff accomplished, while the meaningful stuff
goes undone. All heart heavy, scary stuff…the kinda stuff that makes eyes
leaky, leaves one looking weak and wordless.
It’s that time of year. Three years ago, I was blessed to
sit for 13 days counting my own mother’s breath. For seemingly no reason, long quiet stares
and fatigue are becoming common lately. Longing
either for the coziness of my pillow or a mind-numbing lengthy list of
distracting to-dos. Meanwhile, the gift
of history, experience, goes unused. It’s
hard, it’s yucky, it’s not pretty and will likely produce an ugly cry, but it’s
what I’ve been trained for. I’ve navigated the rough terrain, I’ve slept in the
uncomfortable recliners, I’ve eaten the tasteless cafeteria food, I’ve
discerned the glances of doctors. What good is the experience if you can’t use
it to help another? So slowly, I pull
one leg, then another followed forward by my heavy heart toward the store…I’m
off to fill a basket and stop procrastinating.
