Abilities Reside Within Disabilities, Part III

          I was going to add this to the previous blog, but no. It needs its very own spot, not a side note to another concept.

          Recently, I spoke with my biological cousin, the older sister of the adopted cousins I mentioned in the previous blog. As we spoke in agreement about the awesomeness of her brown brother and sister, I began questioning myself, admitting that I am over-the-top-crazy about them … possibly to a flaw. Truthfully, I am mesmerized by these two individuals, as I have been with every other special needs child my aunt and uncle have fostered or adopted. I am completely in awe. The part I questioned was that I do put them on a pedestal, basically in an adoring way. Kind of like idolatry, which is not so good. I’m cringing a bit writing that, but the truth is the truth. I see perfection in these children, and perfection is a strong word.

Abilities Reside Within Disabilities Part II

          My very first blog was on this same topic. It’s a great concept.

 

          Lately, life has seemed difficult and depressing, causing its usual effect on me; weight loss. On top of the parental transition, as one child has moved away to college and the other one is nearing that time too quickly, and my single parent woes … I had to say good-bye to a dear childhood friend. Watching cancer steal her from all and having no power to ease the pain for her daughter, husband, parents or siblings … I’ve just been sick. It all happened about two weeks ago. I became a recluse inside the walls of my home for the weekend, reading Mitch Albom’s books, one after another. He speaks a lot about life and death. I must say, it helped put things into perspective. I love Mitch.

         

          I dragged myself out of bed Sunday morning (after her funeral on Friday,) fueling my body with the necessary additive, coffee. Then some more. I had to pull it together, even if by artificial means. I was committed to host an exchange student from Guatemala AND attend a local play of The Christmas Carol.

Light in the Dark...Hope

I wrote this last week. Posting for my dear Eve to have something to read while on the quiet train. Shhhhhhh!

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Today was my day off, but one client wanted a little more blonde in her hair, so I made an exception. My clients are more than clients, I consider most to be dear friends, as they do me. My friend/client today is a couple years younger than me, has never been married and never had children, both being longings of her heart. We’ve had many conversations/debates about being married. I assure her being single and happy is better than married and unhappy in an unhealthy relationship. She feels marriage is what she needs and wants and that I can’t understand because I have experienced it. She and I have touched on this a few times over the last decade and a half. Today, I shed a different light on why I say what I say and we understood that she can’t understand my point because she hasn’t been where I’ve been.

We entered another discussion on the topic today, and it brought a couple of thoughts to mind, ones I have never realized.

I was saying how I question myself about a few things, things I would chose death over living through; one of them being trapped in a relationship that is unhealthy and why I cannot and will not do it again. I have written about it before …

From the Delivery Room to the Dorm Room

It was nineteen short/long years ago when God gave you to me.

My physical body transformed, a Mommy I’d soon be.

At your birth, nine months later, your existence became real.

On this day both our lives began, because my wounds began to heal.

 

I stared at you every opportunity I had, always in awe about every part of you.

Trying to wrap my head and heart around this newfound love, one I never knew.

I kissed you too much and could never get enough of your sweet baby smell.

I had heard of falling in love, and was certain that’s the place I fell.

 

The days, weeks and months passed as your tiny body grew.

You changed and evolved, every day learning something new.

You enlightened my world as you learned and began to talk.

Then before I knew it, you crawled and began to walk.

 

My baby became a little girl, seemingly overnight.

Learning and challenging the differences between what’s wrong and right.

Time continued to travel at warp speed as the years would pass.

Then, the day arrived when I walked you into your kindergarten class.

 

Death vs. Divorce

          Which is worse? Losing a spouse to death or divorce?

          A question similar to the answer-less one, “Which is harder/easier … knowing death is coming or a sudden death.”

Knowing death is near gives everyone the opportunity to say what needs to be said and do bucket lists. But, the impending doom is constantly lurking like a heavy fog, the elephant in the room, while everyone awaits the moment of the end … a stress beyond belief. Sudden death steals last goodbyes, but there is no pre-death anxiety and no helplessness as we sit back and witness a loved one suffer.

My end conclusion: Neither is easier or harder, better or worse, and the pain remains the same at the end of the day. There are pros and cons to both and we all could wish for the opposite that we experience, but the truth is, the grass is not greener on the other side when someone we love is taken. The grief is equal. 

As far as death and divorce, it is the same as the above concept, but there is a silent twist. Personally, I am six years post-divorce and had forgotten all about this concept until yesterday. I’m not sure what reminded me as I was driving, but I heard echoes of my words to my dearest friend from seven years ago (as the marriage ship was sinking) … and her perfect response to me. Having a best friend with a degree in counseling comes in quite handy … 

Typically, I write in present time. Thoughts, feelings and happenings of the here and now in my little world. It’s unfamiliar to write about something that is not a current situation, but when prompted, I listen.

4th of July Fireworks and Festivities

Loving independence and the start of a new year and loving the manner in which society celebrates it are two different things. This holiday is one of those things that makes me feel like I’m laughing at a joke simply because everyone else is laughing, but I really don’t get it … I’m merely going with the flow. I’ve tried going downtown with the rest of Nashville for the well-known Riverfront firework show, and seem to be a minority as I close my eyes and cover my ears while everyone else claps. Truthfully, I just see thousands of dollars being blown up, mixed with my ears hearing and my mind envisioning a terrorist attack.

It’s kind of like how I desperately want to be part of a fan club crowd. I tried watching Harry Potter in hopes of getting hooked and speaking the Harry Potter lingo. That did not work at all. I just didn’t get it … and since I am petrified of fireworks, I don’t get that either. War scares me, and fireworks remind me of war.

Codependent, Empath and Anxiety/Anxious

I have recently discovered a common thread among codependency, empathy and anxiety. I happen to have all three characteristics (overachiever.) I’ve known about the anxiety for many years, discovered that I am codependent about two years ago and was informed on February 13 of this year that I am an empath.

          The definitions:

Scars and Birthmarks

          Scars and birthmarks are the first thing I usually notice about a person. They are a shout out to the world, Unique, Customized, One of a Kind, and I find them quite attractive.

          It was about 15 years ago when I learned that my perspective and view of these marks are a bit unique and others don’t see what I see; which I find equally as odd as those who think they look like flaws.

I didn’t intentionally not talk about these amazing marks and my respect of them, it just never came up until I saw a man with a crimson birthmark covering one side of his face. I was with my husband, back in my married days, and met his coworker for the first time. I could hardly contain my composure when I saw this other man and his birthmark. Not that I wanted to jump his bones, but I did want to go on and on about how completely AWESOME his fabulous mark of individuality looked, like he was a chosen one to receive such a mark. When my husband and I left the building, I couldn’t restrain my admiration past walking out the door. By the time we got into the car, he had the most bizarre look on his face. It was a cross between wanting to take me for a psychological evaluation mixed with a soft smile of intrigued delicacy. Kind of like, You have a third eye ... I think I may like it ...

Turning Frowns Upside Down

                    I am one of those people who have an issue with social sites like Facebook (brain/time suckers,) but I do have a FB. Lately, I have found myself far too connected with my account. Tragedy seems to be all around me. Cancer, paralysis, car wrecks, school shootings, genetic disorders … the list goes on and on. When people go through these things, Facebook pages are created for updates and prayer purposes. All one needs to do is “like” the page, and each new update will appear on the news feed. In a matter of a couple of months, I have subscribed to about 10. I must have oversubscribed and overdid it. That is where my decline began …