Miracles ... Shelby, Cheryl, Tim ... A Quarantine Read

“A Miracle”
What exactly makes something a miracle or miraculous? I suppose that’s up to each one of us since one’s perception is one’s reality.
Does a miracle have a time limit? Can it be an occurrence that only lasts a second? A minute? An hour? A day/week/month/year? Or must it stick for eternity and always “be” in order to be declared “the big M word?”
What about when a miracle, or miracleS happen in the midst of tragedy? Does that make them MORE miraculous? Or does it diminish their “miracleness?”
Again, it’s your call to you, my call to me.

-By definition (vocabulary.com): A miracle is an event so marvelous that it seems like it was sent from above.
Miracle, a noun meaning “amazing or wonderful occurrence,” comes from the Latin word miraculum, “object of wonder.” Dig way back and the word derives from smeiros, meaning “to smile,” which is exactly what you do when a miracle happens.-

I certainly smiled while writing this mini novel, but a tear or two was also shed. I saw (still see) and experienced many miracles which are documented below; however, none of them came with beams of light, trumpets sounding or glitter swirling. In fact, if one wasn’t paying attention, many of these miracles would have simply passed by, never receiving acknowledgement. And, well ... that simply cannot happen ...

The Downside of Being an “Angel" on an Angel Tree

Welcome back Me! It's been almost THREE years since I've blogged!
And, hello Stranger, who I will likely never see, meet, or even know anything about you, as you read a tiny excerpt from approx 1 hour of my life, many moons ago.
Be blessed. You are seen. You are important. You are loved.

~~~~~~~~~

First, I/we have never ACTUALLY been on an Angel Tree, though there is no shame in that … and quite honestly, I feel certain we would have been accepted if applied. There are some of us who either were raised to not accept handouts or naturally have too much pride … which can be both a good and bad thing. I fit one or both of those descriptions. By default, I’m a natural born giver. Being on the receiving end is not in my comfort zone.

As far as "joining in the spirit of giving during this holiday season," here’s a different perspective/take and a bit of insight for others who are graciously giving to the “less fortunate.” Which I also have done, do, and will do when possible. It wasn’t until I was convinced against my will to “allow others to love on me and my girls,” that I saw a little glitch in this concept.
It was an “Adopt-a-single-mom-Christmas-dinner-night.”
We experienced being a charity case.

Raising Adults

I don't claim to be the "perfect" parent, but I see a problem in raising children. Personally, I am trying to raise adults… Not lifelong children.

Granny ... A mini-novel ...

        

        It is ironic that my last post was on October 21, 2015. It was about Granny, as is this one … and she left this earth on July 21, 2016, exactly 9 months to the day. I began writing a little bit that night, but took a break until now. (My oldest daughter has asked what I saw with numbers regarding Granny … because that’s just one of those weird things I do. My quick response was about the dates both being on the 21^st, and that they were 9 months apart. I knew the number 9 represented finality/and ending, but looked it up again, finding this: The number 9 is mentioned in Scripture 49 times and 9 symbolizes divine completeness or conveys the meaning of finality. Reference: www.biblestudy.org)  

Granny

          GP/Granny Parker

I’ve never spent the night in a nursing home. Tonight will be a first. It is my understanding that this facility is called a “Rehabilitation Center,” but it has every characteristic of a nursing home.

Possibly, that’s just a new name given to take away the icky stigma attached to the title, “nursing home …”

          Considering the outside surroundings of this location, (barred doors and windows on the small, rundown houses; railroad tracks and no one of my same skin color driving in the passing cars,) the actual facility is surprisingly quite nice and impressive. It is very clean, well decorated and smells good; which is exceptional considering the amount of elderly people here. Not what I expected.

Church

Church. The face with many masks, at least in my lifetime.

It once represented a fun place to make arts and crafts, somehow creatively connected to scripture. Certificate awards that could be be framed or put in a scrapbook showing the success of learning the books of the Bible. Little snacks and Dixie cups with red Kool-Aid. It smelled like Play Doh, glue and paint and sounded like Jesus Loves Me This I Know. I loved having angel wings strapped on my tiny back, lined in sparkly tinsel, just like the wire halo on a stick hanging over my head. Older people stood in front of the church wearing matching robe-like gowns, holding hardback hymnal books and singing off key. My Nanny sang along loudly and I couldn’t tell if it sounded good or bad. The best part was when the preacher said for the kids to come forward. We sat criss-cross-applesauce on the carpet and listened to a Bible story he had tried to recreate in our novice language. Sometimes we even got a little prize, like a piece of candy.

A Diamond Named Crystal Poem

 “I have breast cancer.” The words you said in a matter of fact way.

I tried to process the declaration, But no words could I say.

We kept a positive attitude, believing it would all be okay.

In spite of the threat that it could take your life one day.

 

You eventually told me, “They said I may have three years.”

You were the one comforting me, trying to calm all my fears.

That discussion was a phone conversation, but you still heard me cry.

I was asking what everyone else was, the unexplainable question, why?

A Diamond Named Crystal

          It was somewhere after 8pm and before 9pm on Thursday May 14, 2015 when time stood still. Whatever the clock said no longer mattered and had no meaning. I sat in a hospital room beside my lifelong friend who was laying in the bed, holding her hand as she was preparing to leave this earth. It would be my first time to be in the presence of someone leaving their physical body. I've never wanted so desperately to be somewhere and not be somewhere so badly.

30 Things I Learned About Myself When Snowed/Iced In My House Alone For Days

 

1.     I like to be alone.

2.    My house in not very organized, and its big.

3.    Having gas heat does NOT mean it works when the electricity goes out. Gas fireplaces do ... but they are a little intimidating to people who are afraid of gas powered explosions.

4.    I miss my kids.

A Single Mom's Christmas Poem

I wrote this poem years ago, but re-read it tonight. It still speaks to me. Blessings to all single Mommies! (and Daddies ... or caretakers :), whomever you may be!)

She prepared the surprises her girls would soon see.

The stockings were stuffed and gifts were under her tree.

She tried very hard to make the holiday bright,

Preparing memories to be made on this Christmas Eve night.

She decided to make a fun, new fresh memory for this holiday.

She always attempts to make things memorable in any small way.

The three of them got matching pajamas, just like an all girl team.

It gave them a girlish sense of fun, as small as it may seem.

They said their bedtime prayers and she kissed their sweet heads.

Then she smiled with joy as she tucked them in their beds.

Its time to do the final touches for the moment when they wake.

In just a few hours, she will watch the memories they will make.

She is thankful for her babies and that they will soon discover their gifts.

She hopes they will never long for what they all have missed.

She knows in many homes, the mom and dad are doing this together.

She thought when her family was starting that it would be forever.

A Poem to My Second Child

This is the longest poem I have ever written and will take about 7-8 minutes to read. I tried to just 'write' about this event in an attempt to document it, but for some reason I never liked the way it turned out. Last night, a flood of thoughts came to me and I sat down and wrote for about 2 hours. No idea why or how, but it came out in this poem form. It is written to my youngest daughter. She cried when she read it and really loved it... so to me, it  has already served it's purpose, no matter what. But hopefully another may enjoy it, or some part of it. It is about my daughter getting saved.

I prayed for God to give me a second child,

Promising Him again, I’d do my very best.

Makes me wish trying hard or having the right intention,

Determined the grade and if I passed that test.

 

I hope you feel you’ve had a good childhood,

And that I was a good mother to you.

But for me there are some things that could’ve been better,

Some things you possibly never knew.

 

Mel and FeMel

Ten years ago I attended a hair show in Vegas and met one of the platform artists. Months later, I saw him in a magazine and got the bright idea to hire him for the grand opening party of my salon. I contacted him and he put me in touch with his agent, both lived in New York. I will never forget the first phone conversation I had with the agent, Mel. I was sitting at the front desk and at the first sound of his voice I thought, this won’t work. I don’t have anything against gay men, but he sounded extreme, and I’m a little on the conservative side. Maybe I thought he would be dramatic or just too much for my southern salon, I’m not sure. Now, I look back and realize how misleading first impressions can be.

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!

                               **************************************

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 ...