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 …

Thankful

I Am Thankful

11/21/12

Maybe it seems impossible to have gratitude,

Since my fairy tale life didn’t turn out quite right.

I’ve had to rewrite my little fairytale story

Like I’m doing tonight.

I am thankful for my Daddy,

Who must be the mom too.

He showed me unconditional love

Is the only love that’s true.

My Daddy links me to the love I’m most thankful for,

Though I cannot say I’ve always understood.

God and Jesus having eternal love for me,

No matter if I’m bad or good.

The Long Island Medium

I’m not a TV watcher, but I watch The Long Island Medium, Theresa Caputo. It’s a toss up if I am most captivated by her conversations with the dead or her style. All bound together, she is true to herself, her 80’s self, and she doesn’t care if anyone gets her or not.

          As a Christian, surrounded by other Christians, mediums are controversial. The Bible says no. Therefore, I have spent time focusing and thinking, something I already do too much of in the first place.

          At any rate, she is on tour and was in Atlanta on Oct 24, so I bought tickets the day before, called a lifelong friend and off we went. Last minute, just the way I like it. I went with no intention of “being read,” because I have been fortunate enough to have dreams from the other side. I’ve received messages I needed to move forward and understand to the best of my ability, that which cannot be understood; Death. However, over time I have learned something about the controversial part as far as "connecting" with people who have died. More on that later ...

I went because I see/feel things in people here. The best way to describe it is dark, hot and bad or bright, warm and good. I wanted to be in her physical presence just to see what happened. I was one in an audience of 4,700, but she stood 2 people down from me and read the lady and her daughter beside me as well as a mother/daughter 2 rows behind me. My guess is she noticed me, especially my gladiator style bracelet because that’s just what I imagine she would notice.

          Point in case, what to believe.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

I never enjoyed homework when I was in school, much less essays. Sad to say, I typically still do not enjoy helping my kids with homework. A few nights ago, my youngest daughter had to write an essay about her summer reading. It was over a book she read, The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton. (FYI: S.E. Hinton wrote it in HIGH SCHOOL, second seller only to Charlotte's Web.)

          I have known virtually every word to the movie since I was a child, thanks to my older sister loving it. Not to mention, many heartthrobs starred in it. They were babies, but still wonderful. The cast consists of Tom Cruise, Matt Dillon, Ralph Macchio, Rob Lowe (yummy,) Emilio Estevez, C. Thomas Howell, Leif Garrett, Diane Lane … and of course, my all time favorite, Patrick Swayze … “Darry.”

          The homework assignment was to explain Robert Frost’s poem, Nothing Gold Can Stay, along with Johnny’s words about what he thought Robert Frost meant. My daughter was stumped, thinking it was contradictory, talking about the colors green and gold and that life is more valuable when you are a kid. That’s where it all began …

         

The poem:

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

       I remembered this poem, along with Johnny’s last words before he died, “Stay gold Ponyboy, stay gold.”

However, considering the cutie patootie cast, I suppose I didn’t give it as much thought as I should. Now I have.

          We dissected each line …

Babies Growing Up ... Mommies Growing Up

I haven’t written in awhile, too many thoughts in my head. I wonder, who am I writing this TO/FOR? I see posts on Facebook directed to A person; yet they are posted on a public site? Does the posting person want to allow everyone in on a private comment, that is no longer private? I don’t get it. Then, I look at myself and wonder who I am speaking to when I write this blog. It is an outlet to place something deep within myself into a bottle and throw it out to sea.












My blogs are messages in bottles … No idea what shoreline they will wash upon or who will open the bottle, or if that person will even understand my message. I still throw it anyway …      

The truth is, time is passing too quickly for me and I am attempting to freeze moments. I look at things longer now … I look at my children longer. I hug them tighter and for just a few more seconds. I smile at them more. I kiss them more. One day, I know I will have to rely on this reservoir of memories, so I am stockpiling them. I look happy because I am happy, but I am scared, really scared, and I cry a lot. Not necessarily because I’m sad, I just seem to need to cry.

Creative writing exercise: A Place You Loved-Destroyed.

Dreams to nightmares. That would best describe my once loved place.
      I put my all into it. Time, energy, invested money, current money, sweat and tears. Some blood was most likely shed there too. Just scissor cuts, but all the same, I shed blood.

It was the most beautiful salon I had ever seen, still to this day, all 7,000 sq ft. My heart and mind believed in it and it was my 3^rd child. Sadly, my first 2 children would attest that at one point it received more time and attention than they did. However, now, I can hardly stand the sight of it and will avoid traveling down its road if there is another way to get where I am going. Too many negative thoughts and feelings revisit me when I am near it.

After 2 years and 2 Martinis I drove there, just to make myself do it. It was the first time my car had been back in that parking lot. Could I make myself get out and walk to the double door entrance?

A teardrop fell on my hand that was cupped around my eyes as I peered through the glass.
  Still. My mind and body were still.
  It was all destroyed.
  Memories replayed what it once looked like; emotions replayed what it once felt like. I wished I could forget at least a few parts, (and hoped I had, but simply couldn’t remember.) Yet, I always want to remember …

I once was the owner with a key, but now was a passerby looking in a window through a blur of soft tears. 

Pictures

Pictures are worth a thousand words, or more. Sometimes they are my greatest allies, yet others they seem like a cruel enemy. The frozen moments in time that were once happy and now, they are gone.

          I am in the de-cluttering process, and yesterday I dove into the storage room, the room holding countless pictures stored in boxes; Pictures from the past. They portrayed the days before I had GRAY HAIR, (previous post, ha!) the days when I was a wife and had a family of four. I looked through the happiest days of my life, wondering how and why they could not have matured. Granted, I have many great pictures of the here and now, but still, it hurt. Words cannot explain the evolution of change when one loses such a part of herself. Maybe that explains why those pictures are hidden in boxes. (And why there are not photographers at divorce ceremonies or funerals ...) 

          I looked at the married me and began to see my identity. Have I changed? Am I still the girl in those pictures? Yes and no. Somehow I could relate to her, and in other ways she had the look of a stranger. I cannot help but wonder who am I now?

Gray Hair. The Honorable Crown of Righteousness

           "So, would you or would you not want a good friend to tell you if you had gray hair? Like do you want to know, IF you did, or not?"
          These words were spoken to me last week by one of my best friends from high school ... Hence, the start of this gray topic.
            Youth is all I have ever known. I've looked young, (because I am small,) and act young … but I don’t know why. I simply have never felt like a grown up.

          Things are changing. The evolution has begun …

In one way, it has been a slow fade; yet in another, I feel like I woke up from sleep one morning and noticed a stranger’s reflection in the mirror. For example, my grandmother died 14 years ago; yet, I see her when I look at my hands. HER hands are now on my body, complete with the brown spots delicately faded into thinning skin. All I’m missing are the purple bruises, similar to an apple or banana that fell to a hard surface or sat somewhere too long.

          I can’t help but think:

The skin on elbows, knees and necks … that is not pretty.

How can a wrinkle look like a scar? A scar of age, I suppose.

Jowls? What the h*** are jowls and how do they simply become part of me?

Where did my butt go? It’s like it fell.

20/20 vision, PLEASE come back! Small print is not my friend.

And gray hair?! Seriously?!

Sure, I had noticed a gray hair or two here and there. Not to mention, that is what I do all day and has been my profession for 23 years. I color gray hair. One would think I would be prepared since I am surrounded by its existence and it is a reality in my world.

No. Not the case … It caught me by surprise, somehow.

Hosea 7:9 Foreigners are using up your strength, but you don't realize it. You have become a grey-haired, old man, but you don't realize it.

I hear that. Makes sense to me now.

Last night I sat on my countertop until 1:30 am in an approximate 2 hour rendezvous that turned into an obsessive addiction. I plucked hairs until I had a white/gray bouquet of hair beside me, like a grandmother-looking wig. They were everywhere; shiny, white hairs … AKA: My “crown of righteousness.”

Proverbs 16:31 says, “Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained by a righteous life.”

Oh yay … I must be doing something right?

Proverbs 20:29 gets even better, “The glory of young men is their strength, gray hair the splendor of the old.”

"Splendor” and “Old.”

Isaiah 46:3-4, “I have cared for you since you were born. I will be your God throughout your lifetime – until your hair is white with age.”

So is He done with me? Am I on my own now that my hair is white with age?

Yes, last night is when I officially crossed over into adulthood. I am a grown up and have reached acceptance on a newfound level. I thought I was grown when I graduated high school. Then again when

Pads+Tampons+Handsome Men at the Grocery Store=Awkward

Having a house full of girls is like a fun sleepover most days, but there is one problem … Cycles synchronize among close females. PMS rules the roost for about a week out of every month. Super fun.

          About 2 months ago, my youngest daughter and I were doing the dreaded grocery shopping. We came to the feminine product aisle and realized we needed to make a purchase. Though I am not an extreme coupon-er, I am trying to be more aware, shop wisely and be more frugal with my money. If I find a non perishable item that is on sale and we use it, I stock up. Between all of us and the numerous female friends who seem to be at our house, we basically need the entire variety spectrum of girly goods. That means an assortment of tampons and pads, several of each. (Hate to use those detailed descriptions, but it is what it is.)

          Anyway, all of the above were on sale. Considering the fact that I hate going to the store and don’t particularly like buying these types of things, I stocked up on all of them. Quite the array was in my Kroger basket. It was like a collection, only not art or coins, but Kotex, Playtex, Tampax, Always, Carefree and so on …

          We made our way to the checkout line and I strategically chose a female checkout-er. Maybe that was for my own sake, maybe it was to spare a guy, maybe both? I would rather wait in a longer line to get a girl. If I just had one little box or pack it would be different, but I could be mistaken for a distributor who may be stocking up to resale.

As I neared the line, the cutie patootie manager was walking by.

Cocktails in Heaven

 “The Lord is with you right now.

You are not alone,” she says to me.

I sobbingly reply, “I understand that He is,

But I desperately need someone I can see.

I need someone with skin,

And a soft, gentle touch.

I need someone with a shoulder to cry on

When the burden becomes too much.”

Sometimes I wonder

 If it is worth the effort to even try.

There are days when my only accomplishment

Is to sit down and have a good cry.

Will my children ever understand?

Do I really want them to?

Will their memories whisper that I was a good mom?

Or will they reflect on all I couldn’t or didn’t do?

I selfishly want the easy road.

A path paved in shining gold.

A life that went smooth and happy

And my body would never grow old.

Prodigal Son … Prodigal Parent

          The title sounds like I am going to do a sermon. Set the bar low if that’s an expectation.

          In short, if you do not know me and do not follow my blog, I will quickly catch you up to speed so this will make sense:

          I am a single mom with 2 girls. I was married about 14 years and now I am not. Da baby daddy is not quite as involved as he was when we were married. He’s no longer the family man I once knew … or thought I knew.

I never expected divorce or any other thing to change how equally 110% involved we both were as parents. From the week to week, day to day standpoint … I do 90-95% solo. That’s how it feels to me. There have been many surges of resentment as to how I am now primarily responsible for what we entered together. Maybe it’s my insecurities and I would feel more confident in guiding the lives of 2 little humans with an ally, or maybe I am selfish and tired.

Regardless, it’s been this way for about 5 years now …

On with the catching up to speed … I am in a 6 month-ish long women’s weekly study group. A couple of months ago, the instructor read the parable from Luke (15: 11-32) about the prodigal son. Even though she changed the sons to daughters so we could identify better, the story didn’t seem to apply to me on a very personal level, yet … it did.

I mean, I got it, but now I GET IT.

The Cliff Notes/Spark Notes version of the Prodigal Son parable:

Poem about saying Goodbye

I wrote this poem over 4 years ago. It is still ringing in my ears to this very day. Goodbye is so difficult, but a painful reality in life that cannot be escaped.

It’s funny how it will hold one meaning to a person, yet another meaning to another. None of which most likely match mine …

 How Do You Say Goodbye?

December 11, 2007

 “Goodbye” is said throughout our lives

Many times from day to day.

We seldom put a lot of thought into it.

It is simply something that we say.

If you take a moment to think about “good-bye,”

It IS a contradictory word.

Who placed “good” with “bye?”

That concept is absurd.

It is okay,

When you know it’s only for awhile.

You will see the person again,

And with that comes the smile. J

Then there is: “GOODBYE.”

Is that worse to hear or say?

It is a thief in the night …

Taking someone special away.