Helpless Desperation

The Strangers who enter my life, often, end up allowing me to put my life in perspective.

A couple in their mid-forties dropped by the office yesterday seeking information, and answers.

At first glance he looked healthy and strong, until I happened to glance down, and noticed he was using a walker, and had a brace on his right leg. She just looked...sad, very sad.

The husband, had injured his back well over a year ago, a very bad injury it seems. He has endured 3 surgeries since that time. Now, his spine has been fused, and he lacks the complete use of his legs. For a while, he received workers compensation, and is currently on short-term disability. She is a stay-at-home mom, who also home schools their 3 children. They have almost depleted their life savings, and have cashed in their IRAs, with enough left over to, hopefully, continue making the mortgage payments on their home for the next few months.

The very small community they live in, an hour's drive south of me, has rallied round them. Providing food, and small donations to help them in their time of need. They did OK, not great, but OK, for the first ten months or so. But, now, they are facing the end of their funds. They feel as if they can ask no more of their family, friends, and community. His place of employment has decided he must prove he can no longer work, (one only has to look at him to see the pain flash across his face as he attempts to ambulate across a room). He was accepting when his company told him that his disability and workers comp are running out. To offset that, since he is almost recovered from his last surgery, he requested of them to find him another job in the company, he didn't care what, just one that he is capable of doing. He can now sit for a several hours at a time, his arms, and hands still work, his brain is fully functional. Yet they told him, they have nothing, no jobs available that match his new capabilities. Interestingly, the company just used a temporary employment firm to hire two new receptionists. So, he asked of them...why couldn't he be trained to do that job? The answer was, they wanted someone with experience. OK.

This man has worked for the company for almost 20 years. He knows the ins and outs of all the departments, of the factory side, and much of the administrative side. Is that not the right kind of experience? I am clueless as to why he cannot be hired in and trained (the summer before my senior year of high school, I worked as a receptionist, I was shown my desk, how to use the phone system, and given a list of names and their extensions, I managed, they even sent me a letter when I left, thanking me for a job well done), I have no understanding as to why this company cannot take care of their own, he is willing to work after all.

I spent over an hour with this couple, searching through every resource I could think of to find them some kind of financial or health care related aid. But, alas, they still have too much money in the bank to receive any government aid. He has not been disabled long enough to be approved for Social Security Disability. His wife commented...she is looking for a job, but since she has always been home with their children, and only has a high school diploma, she does not expect to find a position that will pay more than minimum wage.

He is extremely frustrated, I witnessed his feelings of bitterness, his expressions of frustration with his employer, and the government, his frustration and anger were so intense at times, I felt as if they were partially directed at me. But there was a moment that had my eyes filling with tears. When his eyes filled with tears, and he stated in voice that started out strong but faded to almost a whisper, "I have always prided myself on my ability to provide for my family, now I can't, I can't."

As he spoke, his wife's eyes filled also, overflowed, and with glistening trails of tears sliding down her cheeks, she said, "He tries so hard, but he gets so frustrated, this new inability to accomplish the things he used to do, and the pain he has to live with, are just too much. But...the hardest thing of all is...we used to be the ones that donated to people in need. We used to be the ones that gave the gift of Christmas to a needy family. But...this past Christmas...it was our name on the list...it was us who had no money to buy our children gifts...it was us who needed the food to prepare Christmas dinner."

A friend of mine has often stated the following in regard to giving and receiving whether in regard to help, or gifts..."Take what is offered when offered...give when you can as you can...accept both...be happy with both...then everyone is happy." I told them both this, it didn't help them, but maybe, it will make it easier to ask for help.



I looked at this man, and woman, and my heart sank, because no matter how I tried. I could find no resources for them to qualify for, I had no answers that they had not already tried, I could not help them.

And, through it all, I kept thinking...there are so many, so many of us, that think we are prepared for what ever life throws our way. But, are we? I wondered, how would I react if I found myself in the same situation? Would I be able to find the strength to bury my pride and ask for help?

The couple I met yesterday opened my eyes to many things.

One being: I speak daily with so many people, who have no other recourse, but to ask the aid of strangers (me and others like me), and there have been times when I have judged them. I have judged them because they come across as being full of bravado, anger, self-justification, sometimes that anger is directed toward me because I am the bearer of bad news, no answers that help. There are those I have met, that sometimes, exhibit what appears to be a sense of entitlement, it feels as if they think they are entitled to any and all financial aid available, and my following the guidelines is just an excuse for me (or other's like me) to tell them "no, sorry, it's not gonna happen." I take no pleasure in turning someone down for funding, especially those who I know are desperate.

But, most of these strangers in need, that must gather the courage to face yet one more stranger and ask for help, aren't angry at me, they have no overblown sense that the "world owes them", that isn't what it is...not at all. Their exhibits of bravado, anger, and frustration, are a way of trying to hide their shame at not having the ability to support themselves, to get past that feeling of utter and complete helplessness. A cycle of helplessness, it grows, it can happen so quickly. An accident or illness occurs, they get behind on one bill, if they pay that one, another one is short-changed, and so on, and so on, and so on, until soon...it becomes an overwhelming mountain of debt and need.

I couldn't help the couple who visited me yesterday, and there are many others I cannot help. But on some occasions, I can help, I do have the answers, I find something, even if not a very big something, that can ease the burden of those who no longer have the capability of fully helping themselves. It just isn't enough.

I pondered many things last night during my drive home, and for many hours afterward...

There is a very, very thin line between the middle-class and the poor. A line so thin, that a simple fall from a ladder can cause that line to disappear.

I have read in many different places, of how, we should all have at least 3 months salary set aside for emergencies. 3 months? I now think it should be 3 years. But, tell me...how many people have that capability? Very few.

There is much that can be said to denigrate our current 'must have it all consumer mentality', of how it has trapped so many of us, into buying more and more, into collecting more and more things to find that mysterious vagarious feeling we call happiness. In effect not creating happiness, but more and more consumer debt. More and more worries.

Many talk a good game, of how this increasing need to own more, to own the latest and greatest of everything has ruined our country, our society. (those standing on line all day to purchase the i-phone today are a good example of that ever constant need to own, to have). There are politicians, sociologists, religious leaders, everyday citizens, who can go on and on about what is wrong with our society, our nation, our world, but that is all it is...rhetoric...nothing is ever done. More and more people falling through the hole of debt, whether through illness, accident, or over-consumption.

And, the thing is...I don't know how to fix any of it...I have no idea. Does anyone? Can anyone fix it? Questions that are constantly asked, and answered, lotsa great theories are spouted...yet we DO nothing.

After witnessing so many who have fallen so low, and no matter how hard they try, they just get beaten down again. I begin to wonder...if I found myself in similar irremediable circumstances...

Would I give back? Would I get angry at myself, or would I direct my anger toward others? Would desperation make me do things that I think I would never do?

I have been poor, the first 9 years of my life, my family was quite poor, the next few years fluctuated between having and not having. I know poor...to an extent...but today...it seems different... there is so much stuff...so much...that people want...stuff they think they need...maybe...poor is different today.

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

The future, our futures, our tomorrows, the next hour for that matter, are unpredictable, completely uncertain. I forget that sometimes. The strangers I meet almost daily, those people in such desperate need, remind me though, if I remember to listen.

Long ago, the Christmas I was 15, I received an alarm clock as a gift from my brother. The face of the clock had a popular quotation printed across it...

"Today, is the first day, of the rest of your life."

The thing is...today...could be...the only day...of the rest of my life.

So, I may ask myself...

Did I do good today? Did I express my love and affection to all the people in my life that I needed to, that I would express it to, if I knew this were my last day? Sadly, the answer is no, I didn't. I wish I had.

I then may ask...what could I have done differently?

The thing is...I can ask myself those questions forever...but they are wasted thought...if I do nothing to arrive at the answer I want.

Words That Come From the Heart--Do Over

Words that do not become flesh in us remain "just words." They have no power to affect our lives... We have to keep making sure our words are rooted in our hearts."

~Henri Nouwen~

In times of extreme emotion, I find myself unable to comprehend, lost in a confusion of over-stimulation. It may take me several days, sometimes even weeks to find the inner stability to recognize how lost in those feelings I have become. Once the realization comes upon me, that I cannot focus, that I cannot find my center, or find a balancing point, I must take another step to do that, a step away from the intensity. It has always been this way with me. I must write them out to understand them. To place them in reality. A purging of emotional overindulgence.

In the process of attempting to find the words to describe the turmoil within, I once again regain a focus, regain my sense of balance. I once again regain the ability to find my center, the place where I can feel, but not become overwhelmed with the emotions.

Emotions are not tangible items, they cannot be boxed up and locked in storage. They cannot be washed and hung out to dry, or tossed into the dryer with a softener sheet. At times though, they are...too real...in our minds, or, at least in my mind. Too much of anything can be a heavy burden to bear. With emotion too, whether positive or negative, either can be too much at times. in my mind and heart, they become too real. At these times, whether I am feeling an amazing sense of exhilaration, or a soul darkening melancholy, I soon recognize that they are taking way too much precedence in my life.

So, I must find a way to reach a sense of equilibrium. I have a need to dismantle them, examine them, and then reassemble them. To accomplish that, I have to write. It becomes a process of rebuilding. In that process, I also find that I am able to allow them to become what they truly are, an intangible part of me. An important part of feeling alive, but I also then regain the ability to see them for what they are, just feelings, emotion, that at times have physical manifestations. Once I am able to do that, I feel whole again.

You poor reader, those of you that read through my ramblings, often bear the task of having to read my poor attempts at finding my wholeness. Me...searching inward...then allowing the words to spill from fingertips to keyboard to blog post. In the distant past, no one but I ever read my words. Now with blogs, others of you read them. There are times I wonder why I want you to witness my meandering attempts to find my sanity. It helps for me to see the words on the screen or on paper. With this new medium, it sometimes helps to read your comments. A form of psychoanalysis perhaps? I even asked myself, if I am patiently awaiting the comment or email that points out my own insanity. (I gotta smile here, I feel insane most of the time lately) I may be, or maybe not, I truly have not found the answer, and frankly, it is really the least of my worries. I write. You read. I read. Somehow in that process I find reality again. A somewhat peaceful coexistence between emotion and just...living life...once again able to experience moments. That is why I write.

The entry I posted last night, was the tail end of my woeful week of being lost in emotional excess and confusion. At first posting, I immediately wanted to delete it. I was done, I had found my center, regained the ability to think clearly again. But then, I found that it had been read. So again the confounding thought of do I leave it be, or delete it. But, this blog is also for me, to explore me, who ever I may be at the time of writing...so I leave it here, as a testament to myself, that I can be insane once in a while. That's Ok, it is all me. I am learning through this process, you, the reader, are a part of that learning process also. Your comments, or your silence, teach me. And, bizarrely, I like that.

All words, whether spoken or written, in a sense must be from the heart, to be real. And, like it or not, this is the real me, the good, the bad, and the crazy.

When I began this post, it was my intention to find the words to write again, in a more sensible fashion about the women who have begun to populate my life more and more in recent weeks. To write about them, as I did not succeed in doing last night. But that didn't happen, and, I have come to realize, that perhaps, I did write of them last night. Not in the way I had originally intended. But I did do it, in my own nonsensical way. So, it will stand as written to remind me, to place my emotions in a saner, and more intangible place...when they become overwhelming, and to keep trying to live the moments of my life, one moment at a time.

Words That Come From the Heart

"Words that do not become flesh in us remain "just words." They have no power to affect our lives... We have to keep making sure our words are rooted in our hearts."

~Henri Nouwen~

In recent weeks, I have often found myself spending time in the company of other women. Women who have lived divorce, the ending of a marriage.

These women in my life, they talk, they tell me to talk. To talk and talk about what I am going through, to get it out, "Talk as much as you want Sunny, say it over and over and over and over, if you have to, it's OK, I have been there, and talking about it helps." Words, so many pain filled words.

So, I begin. Releasing my words. The words of confusion, of worry. But, then I stop. I find myself in a place in which I cannot utter anymore. So, they tell me their stories. I listen to their words. I understand, I commiserate, I celebrate their new beginnings, and I listen some more. I lean in and recognize the deeply hidden pain behind the words. I cry on the inside, I smile on the outside. They see my hidden tears, we share them, those tears.

These words say so much, from this group of middle-aged women, scratching away at life, with joy, and anguish, and hope filled with dreams.

But then there comes a moment. When each will tell me, how much they admire me. They say, they admire my courage, my ability to walk away. They say, they know how frightening it is.

They didn't do it.

I am the only one within this small circle, who did the walking away. They did not make the decision. Their husbands were the first to leave. Many of these same husbands a few months later told their wives they had made a mistake, and wished to reconcile. Each of these women then tells me, she found her courage, found her strength, found her voice, found her words, to say no.

Why do they think I am the brave one? I do not feel courageous, I do not feel brave. I feel battered, I feel weak, I feel frail, broken. Yet, there is buried deep, so very very deep, that I cannot always find them, little seeds of contentment and peace beginning to sprout within my tattered soul.

With words, and tears, I search for a sense of finality. Too many years of not being enough, too many years of living a life filled with self-imposed unhappiness.

One day, I finally picked up the knife, and cut the shroud that was covering my eyes and heart. There is blood on the knife, I can see it when I look closely. It was not done with ease, it was not done with joy, it was not done without pain...this cutting away of the past, in the search for the future. There will be scars, so many scars. I am not brave.

I have no idea how it will all turn out in the end. I am uneasy about my future, I am uncertain and uncomfortable. I am frightened, confused, at times lonely, at times content, at times melancholy, at times, filled with small snippets of joy, but through it all, is that uncertainty that I try so very hard to let go of. I am not brave. I am filled with tears.

Our stories are all the same, only the details are different.

Edged in pain the words falter then flow, flashes of joy overshadow the anguish, words spark, and flash, hiding behind eyes bright with hope and dreams.Voice rough and soft, she feeds us with her newfound sense of freedom rising. The words flow on, pain's shadow hidden in the depths, continues to grow, seeking release from it's bonds, waiting. Words flatten, smile gone, eyes unseeing, words halt, quiet descends, lies easy, waiting, breathing in, out. Thoughts unspoken, pain's shadow stirring from the depths, unbidden lying in wait, its time will come, it always does. The smile falters, words cease, fail, the shadow darkening. Words spilling like shards of broken glass, flaying, cutting deep, the pain implodes upon her heart, each word landing with a glittering shatter, not hidden, slicing deeply, wounds reopen. Eyes unseeing, focused inward, shock at the oozing drops of blood leaking from her soul, glittering moon tears, pooling, spreading, the words lie there waiting. Cries from the past, each bloody tear a badge of freedom won.

A Measure of Peace

Yesterday.

the meeting:

My husband called me, wanting us to get together, to discuss the DIVORCE, this was the first time we had spoken more than a few words to each other since early May, when I moved out. A lot was said, none of it angry, tears were shed, the past, and future became a part of the conversation. Many emotions were felt on both sides. And...an attempt to turn it into what it will all boil down to in the end...A Business Transaction. I wasn't prepared for that, not at all.

I left that meeting confused, somewhat bemused even, and sad, very sad.

I talked it over with a few friends, all attempted to bolster my self-confidence, all tried to make me see past the emotions of it all, to be more objective when viewing the future. It helped.

Today.

recuperation:

For much of the day, I was overtaken by a numbness of spirit. I knew there was a deep inner sadness, and grieving going on within, but could not seem to tap into it, could not seem to allow myself to really feel the depth of it all.

a nap:

I did not sleep well last night, my mind and heart were overtaken with many thoughts and feelings, in my attempts to understand what had taken place earlier in the evening. So, I allowed myself 25 minutes, to lie on my bed, to not think, to rest.

a talk:

When I awoke, Mr. Son was waiting for me. Only seconds after my alarm went off, he was gently pushing open my bedroom door.

"Hey, what's up?"

"I'm...um, not sure...are you OK? What happened yesterday? Are you OK? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"I'm OK...really. I feel rather strange discussing this with you, we are your parents after all, he is your father, my take on this...is still a bit confused, but if you want to know...I will tell you."

"I do, Miss Sister and I were talking last night, wondering how things went...she has really been thinking a lot about all of this...she really has been analyzing Dad's behavior, she has him pinpointed pretty good I think."

"Yes, she would, she is much like him. One of the reasons they connect so well."

"Yeah, anyway, what happened?"

So, I told him, how it went, not all of the conversation, but the general idea. How I felt, what my impressions were. Mr. Son was amazing. He was very accepting, very supportive, taking time to think deeply about what I told him. Withholding his comments, until he felt sure of what he was going to say.

Mostly, not judging, just showing me in his own way, that he loves, he loves his father, even though they do not have much of a relationship, and I can see that saddens him. But, he also demonstrated to me, that he loves me, and knows that I love him. We ended our conversation in a very comfortable place. We ended our conversation in a way that we end many of our conversations.(One of us usually recommends a book to read to the other, this time it was me, asking him if he had read one that I own. He had not, he perused it, and replied, this is a must read. Which he is doing now.)

the drive:

I had some errands to take care of, in having to do that, I decided to visit the small town close to me, instead of driving to the city. The road is a long, windy, curve strewn, hill and dale road. Very little traffic is on it during the time I drove. I was able to enjoy the scenery, enjoy the feel of the fresh cool air blowing in the window. My mind felt truly free for the first time in over 24 hours.

I think I shopped rather dreamily, not even really sure of what I was purchasing, a few fresh vegetables, and some fruit, some of the kids favorite ice cream treats, a frozen Mexican pizza, other odds and ends. It all felt a bit surreal to me, to be in that small town grocery store, not a Supermarket, but a true grocers. Mostly, I felt so calm, for the first time in weeks, I was filled with an inner calm.

the drive home:

As I retraced the road I had traveled only a little over 30 minutes before, I again was conscious of that feeling deep inside, that I was a bit freer, peace, there is a measure of peace in my soul.

I admired, and smiled to see the clouds of fireflies lighting up the fields on either side of me,(they still seem magical to me), I am happy I can still see their magic.

As I entered the road to my home, I realized, I am truly able to say Good-bye. I can truly say with peace filling me, good-bye to my marriage, and even though, I know not what dramas, and turmoil my near future may hold...there is a peace within. For now.

I can live with that.

Story Telling

Great story tellers.

I have a friend, who once told me of that first moment in his life, when he decided being a good storyteller would become his goal. He wanted to express his opinions, his memories, his views on life, in story form. He wished to foster the ability to recreate his life in stories. Interesting and amusing stories. He has accomplished it, he always has a great story to relate, no matter the occasion, he has a story to fit it.

His decision occurred when he was a young man in his very early twenties. His father was a officer in the service. One auspicious day, my friend experienced a wonderful opportunity, he accompanied his father to the officer's club, to have drinks with his father and some of his cronies. The observation he carried away with him, was, the great stories of their lives these men could tell. He admired this, and from then on, his life's memories were recreated in stories. Great stories. An entertainer was born that day. He has told me many stories from his life. This particular man views all of life with amusement, and an air of bemusement . He has had me laughing many times with his remarkable tales. Tales that in many ways are ordinary experiences similar to those we all have lived. But, in the retelling, they come alive, with a new twist that makes them extraordinary, instead of ordinary.

I had not really realized until recently, how many other's in my life, are great story tellers as well, or, maybe I have been lucky in my life, and have met so many that are.

As we converse, and I ask them questions of their lives, or a subject we are discussing sparks a memory, many of these people in my life, have a wonderful tale of their own life to tell associated with the subject. I often listen in amazement and joy to the tales they tell.

As I was pondering this idea, life recreated in story form, I began to notice something else. There is often a difference in the way the stories men tell are recounted in comparison to those of women. I cannot really pinpoint all of the differences, but I think, many of the stories women tell, are punctuated more much fully in emotion, the emotions felt at the time, their interpretation of the emotions felt, wonderfully rich stories, but somehow, different in their scope.

Whereas with men, their stories are more detailed oriented. The process itself of how the story came to unfold, the details of the surroundings they found themselves in, the sights they saw. The interactions that took place, the conversations, the reactions of other protagonists of the story are told in a way, that is somehow different than the same story told from a woman's perspective. I have experienced this first hand, I have two brothers. We have experienced many of the same events, yet my brothers stories are told in a different way than my own recounting, or that of my sister.

A woman's story, has the details leading up to the event, all of the basics are there, but, perhaps in somewhat softer focus, in the retelling there is more emotion, the reactions of other's involved are more dramatically detailed, the interpretation of those reactions are also often a part of the story. As I said, I cannot really put my finger on the fine line of the differences, but there is one.

I know many women and men that are great story tellers.

I envy these teller's of tales. I do not possess that gift. My memory does not hold onto detail. My articulation often falters, as I am repeating my tale. Something seems lost in the translation.

Human history is based on the oral tradition of storytelling. The very best storytellers were held in high esteem and honor. Sought after at gatherings. Listened to with awe and respect.

Story telling is an art form.

I wonder...can it be learned? I know there are workshops for story telling, they are offered even here in my small Midwestern city. But, I am beginning to believe, that truly great storytellers are born, not made.

I know it is more than the details, it is creating imagery through the spoken word, it is tone, and pitch of voice. Really great stories are memories come to life for the listener as well as the teller of the tale.

A Few Powerful Paragraphs

In the reading of author,Neil Gaiman's novel, American Gods, there have been several times when I have bookmarked or dogeared a page, because he has written a few lines that I wanted to not forget, words that had me thinking, "Oh yes, that is it, it is exactly like that", especially here in the United States. There are a few paragraphs, that really grabbed me, and just wouldn't let go...

"There was a girl, and her uncle sold her, wrote Mr. Ibis in his perfect copperplate handwriting.

That is the tale; the rest is detail.

There are accounts that, if we open our hearts to them, will cut us too deeply. Look--here is a good man, good by his own lights and the lights of his friends: he is faithful and true to his wife, he adores and lavishes attention on his little children, he cares about his country, he does his job punctiliously, as best he can. So, efficiently and good-naturedly, he exterminates Jews: he appreciates the music that plays in the background to pacify them; he advises the Jews not to forget their identification numbers as they go into the showers---many people, he tells them, forget their numbers, and take the wrong clothes when they come out of the showers. This calms the Jews. There will be life, they assure themselves, after the showers. Our man supervises the detail taking the bodies to the ovens; and if there is anything he feels bad about, it is that he still allows the gassing of vermin to affect him. Were he a truly good man, he knows, he would feel nothing but joy as the earth is cleansed of its pests.

There was a girl, and her uncle sold her. Put like that it seems so simple.

No man, proclaimed Donne, is an Island, and he was wrong. If we were not islands, we would be lost, drowned in each other's tragedies. We are insulated (a word that means, literally, remember, made into an island) from the tragedy of others, by our island nature, and by the repetitive shape and form of the stories. The shape does not change: there was a human being who was born, lived, and then, by some means or another died. There. You may fill in the details from your own experience. As unoriginal as any other tale, as unique as any other life. Lives are snowflakes---forming patterns we have seen before, as like one another as peas in a pod (and have you ever looked at peas in a pod? I mean really looked at them? There's not a chance you'd mistake one for another, after a minute's close inspection), but still unique.

Without individuals, we see only numbers: a thousand dead, a hundred thousand dead, "casualties may rise to a million." With individual stories, the statistics become people---but even that is a lie, for the people continue to suffer in numbers that themselves are numbing and meaningless. Look, see the child's swollen, swollen belly, and the flies that crawl at the corners of his eyes, his skeletal limbs: will it make it easier for you to know his name, his age, his dreams, his fears? To see him from the inside? And if it does, are we not doing a disservice to his sister, who lies in the searing dust beside him, a distorted, distended caricature of a human child? And there, if we feel for them, are they now more important to us than a thousand other children touched by the same famine, a thousand other young lives who will soon be food for the flies' own myriad squirming children?

We draw our lines around these moments of pain, and remain upon our islands, and they cannot hurt us. They are covered with a smooth, safe, nacreous layer to let them slip pearlike, from our souls without real pain.

Fiction allows us to slide into these other heads, these other places, and look out through other eyes. And then in the tale we stop before we die, or we die vicariously and unharmed, and in the world beyond the tale we turn the page or close the book, and we resume our lives.

A life that is, like any other, unlike any other.
And the simple truth is this: There was a girl and her uncle sold her."

I Want to Dance

A very long time ago, someone very special to me, wrote the following words...

"I know you're confused. I know you're doubting. I know you're looking for guidance that can't be provided, or when provided, trusted or accepted. Lyrics that have helped me may help you, but the decision, and will as always, is yours."

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Living might mean taking chances
But they're worth taking
Lovin' might be a mistake
But it's worth making

I Hope You Dance - Lee Ann Womack


In recent weeks, and most especially recent days, my emotions have been riding the roller coaster of reality. The reality of my past, my now, and my future. In riding this roller coaster, I have spent many hours just wanting to get off! Wanting my emotions to find a smoother ride.

Then suddenly, I remembered his words, and I have felt so much better! At the time they were posted I was a woman lost in a world of unreality, and they did have meaning. But, today, they have so much more meaning. They fit where I am, and where I want to go. The ride is sometimes more frightening than I would like, sometimes moving way too fast, sometimes even too slow for comfort, but I got on it, and I am going to ride it out.....because, I know, I just know, living life, taking risks, learning to love fully again, it's all worth it!

Once again, I wish to tell him...Merci, je t'adore.

A Recent Whimsy

When I was fifteen, during a gymnastics floor routine, I tore a tendon in my right hip, a year later, I had to have surgery on that hip. The after effects of the surgery left me with two legacies. One, I must always work at keeping my hamstrings stretched and flexible, or I end up with shooting pains down my right leg. Two, I have a rather unattractive scar on my right buttock, almost the length of my hand. The scar has faded with time, but it has always been a slight annoyance to me. Don't know why really, it is not as if many people see it. I rarely see it.

For most of my adult life, when the subject of tattoos would come up, I have been known to say, "Someday, if I ever get one, that is where I will have it placed."

Miss Daughter and I were visiting with some family friends, and the subject of Miss Daughter's tattoo came up...since theirs was the house in which it was given to her...and my friend had just recently found out her own daughter had received one the same night. During our discussion, my friend mentioned her own tattoo shopping trip. She wants one, but has not decided what it should be, since she wishes it to have a very special meaning. In that, I agree with her. I too stated, that I have considered getting one over the years, but, since they are permanent, I wish to be very very sure of the design I choose.

Miss Daughter then pipes up with, "But, Mom! You've always said, if you were to get a tattoo it would be a large butterfly on your butt! Now is the perfect time to do it! It would signify the start of your new life!"

I don't know...I had only thought of the idea of a butterfly, because I always imagined the shape of the scar could be hidden in the ink of the central body of the butterfly. In one sense though, she is correct, I have likened this new era of my life, to my sprouting wings, wings of freedom. The wings of butterfly would definitely portray that. (But, to cover the scar, it would have to be one really big tattoo!)

In thinking about this, I remembered the drawing below, which I used on my last blog entry. It speaks to me...for several reasons. I think of cats as very independent creatures, something I am trying very hard to develop more fully. Over the years I have known many cats, and like it or not, we also share other characteristics, thus it seems somewhat fitting to my personality. With the addition of the wings of the butterfly, and their significance to me...that profound sense of freedom...it just might be...an option to keep in mind.

























Hmmmm, thinking the body of the cat, would hide the scar even better...

Anyway...something to think about.

Streams of Consciousness

I have often noticed there are days in my life that seem to follow a pattern. Whether at work or home, there seems to be a theme defining them.

At one point I asked myself if it was just my being more aware of a certain subject, so I then noticed the abundance of it in my life on any given day. But, when I started my current position at the agency, the patterns became more evident. There is such a wide variety of problems people call me about, that these thoughts at first, seemed absurd to me. But there are days, when I will deal with very similar problems over and over again. There are some factors that influence these seemingly confluent streams of consciousness on certain days, but, there are also many days when these extenuating factors do not seem to play a role. I have even studied my documentation on the clients to prove my theory, and it does happen. I am not sure what it all means, but it is quite interesting to me.

Theme one of my day. A melancholy day, I know the reasons for the depth of my own moodiness, yet even in that knowing, I could not shake it off. A day filled with sad, worn out people. Whether clients, callers, friends or family, all were slightly off kilter today. The very atmosphere itself? I don't know, but the behavioral patterns were very palpable to me.

Another Stream of Consciousness. Tomorrow I have a meeting with my attorney, to discuss the initial divorce hearing required in my state. I have many questions spilling through my brain. I spent some of my lunch hour in research, in an attempt to find the answers to those questions. To help me focus on the questions I will have for my attorney.

After work, I had to stop by a friend's house to pick up Miss Daughter. My friend is just finishing up her 11 month ordeal, she is in the final stage of severing a 25 year marriage. The first words out of her mouth were, "I have some books for you, I am done with them, each in their own way will help you get through all this."

She had three she wished to give me, but one she could not find. That one being the most important she wanted to give me. A book, she believes, will help me over the emotional upheavals that will soon fill my life, and also (she thinks) help me in planning a future that is for ME. (the stress on the ME is hers).

The two books she did give me were;
Divorce for Dummies (at this one I smiled, she is a college professor), and The Divorce Organizer Planner.

I have not opened them yet. I don't know when I will. I am currently weighing my need to experience some physical activity, or skim through the books.

At this point, I fear I am more ready for Divorce for Dummies, than a Divorce Organizer Planner. My mind is numb, I do feel dumb in this process.

I heard her voice the very words, my research today kept warning one NOT to THINK, NOT to DO. Those words, "I just want it over with, I am tired of all the arguing back and forth over assets and who deserves what, who should get what, who should have what, who owes who more. I just want IT OVER WITH, and I am willing to compromise my half to do so."

Another friend, has reiterated to me over and over the following words..."in the final outcome, divorce is like a business deal, one in which there is hopefully an equitable and fair division of the marital assets."

But that friend too, finally got to the point in which he has said, "I JUST WANT IT OVER WITH!"

In 27 years we have accumulated much, I know it will take many many months of anguish, tears, and possibly my having to listen to some very bitter and hurtful words, before all is said and done. And, I wonder, how many times will I think the words, "I just want it over with."?

Some Moments Have Wings

There are days in this life I lead, in which I can only wish...
for them.....to end.

There are days in this life I lead, in which I can only wish...
for them..... to never end.

There are days in this life I lead, in which I find myself weary...
weary of feeling.

Our lives are filled with moments. So many moments.

We wish for the joyful moments, dream of them, ache for them.

We wish for the melancholy moments to dissipate, to evaporate away, wishing for the fog of despair to burn away in the light of pure joy.

In recent weeks, my moments have been filled with joy, sadness, love, despair, relief, fear, dread, angst, hilarity, laughter, small smiles, and many more tears than I have ever wished to shed.

As I pause to examine these moments of my life, many have made me weary, so very weary, and I have wished for them to leave me. But, upon closer examination, each of these moments, no matter how draining, have been filled with gifts.

The gift of self-knowledge, the gift of knowing I am loved, the gift of friendship, the gift of faith in myself, the gift of hope, the gift of dreams, so many more gifts I am unable to name.

These moments of my life have allowed me to see more clearly.

Fear is not my enemy, it is my teacher, I grow stronger each time I face another one down.

Melancholy is not my enemy, I have fought it many times, and continue to win.

Tears are not my enemy, they cleanse my soul, and enable me to face another day.

Anger has not visited me recently, I am hoping it does not, but if it does, I will not view it as an enemy, but as one more lesson of life that I must learn from.

I know there will be many, so many moments in future days and months to come, when my emotions will run up and down the scale. Moments I will wish out of existence. But, there is also a fragment of my soul, or perhaps a small glittering light in my heart, that allows me to know there will always be moments, albeit often infinitesimal ones, but, there will be moments of peaceful contentment.

I smiled joyously yesterday, as I observed and listened to my small five year old great-nephew find the multitudes of small delights that inhabit our world. I smiled this evening, as I enjoyed a quiet hour chatting with my children. I sighed in peaceful contentment tonight as I walked along the road that travels by my home.

There are some moments, we wish to last forever. In our memories, in our hearts, they will.

Peace. So many small moments, filled with peace.

I wish to hold onto them as they flutter within me.

Spoiled

In the summers of the distant past, before Mr. Son and Miss Daughter became teens, I would spend approximately 4 hours a week mowing our, and my grandmother-in-law's yards. It was a nice respite from cleaning, and being a mom 24/7. I rather enjoyed it.

Today, I spent over 7 hours mowing my lawn. Yep, you read that right, SEVEN HOURS!

It could have taken me much longer, but I got lazy. In the past when mowing, I have been known to go over a spot again and again, until all blades of grass are the same length....yeah, yeah I gotta problem .... but I do like pretty lawns.

Anyway after about hour three, and not even being halfway done, I began to tell myself......"this is not a golf course, the lawn does not have to be perfect, and, it is a waste of precious gasoline to go over a spot that has already been mowed." So, I was able to skip most of the not so even places, well, most of the time. I also trim around trees with the garden tractor, I have gotten quite good at using forward and reverse to trim around the trees. But after about hour four.....nope, I decided that 2 foot high grass with seed heads is quite pretty, and I want to experience that more fully.

The mowing is now done for a week, a 10 acre oasis of fairly even length grass. Around hour six, I decided, maybe, I should buy a goat, or, put up some fencing and pasture some horses. What a savings it would be in gasoline, and back muscles. Plus, boarding horses would be added income, there is one stall here already.

My next thought....tell Miss Daughter how riding the mower is a great way to get a tan. Might work, even if she would do half, my back would thank her. But, she still does the mowing at her father's house, so I somehow doubt I will be able to convince her to do it here too.

It has spoiled me in recent years to have someone else do the mowing, I missed it on occasion, mowing is a fairly brainless activity, and it does give one time to think. So, there were times when I would tell one of my children I would do the mowing. They liked that.

I have decided that a part of this extremely large yard is going to return to nature. There are areas in which it would be quite pretty, and beneficial to the abundant wildlife in the area to have some meadow lands. Now, I just have to convince my neighbors.

Another area in which I realized I have been spoiled in the past is having central air conditioning. The one here quit working on Thursday evening. I debated long and hard before calling my husband to check it out, it was a very humbling experience as well. At first I didn't think I had the right to request that from him. But, it is one of his many areas of expertise, and I most definitely do not have the money to hire someone to do it, plus it made him feel needed. At least that is what I am telling myself now.

He did examine it, and the compressor is inoperable, so we wait until Monday afternoon for repairs to be accomplished. In the mean time, I am getting used to the heat, being a bit more conscious of keeping drapes closed during the day, and opening windows only during the evenings. What I didn't expect was melted chocolate.

I was so tired by 9:30 that I didn't feel like preparing a meal for myself, so I snacked, and then felt like eating something sweet. I remembered Miss Daughter requesting me to buy the ingredients for S' mores. I went to the cabinet, and came across a package of melted Hershey bars! Melted! I have never had them melt in the house before! It must have gotten quite warm inside today.

In thinking about all of this, I did realize how spoiled I have been. My life has been relatively easy. My husband is man of many skills. Rarely, very rarely have we had to hire someone to repair a broken appliance, rarely have we taken a vehicle into a shop for repairs if it was past warranty. He has always had the knowhow, or the fortitude to learn to repair most broken items. I have learned much from him over the years, and I am very grateful for that. I realized many years ago, that in watching him, I learned that very few things are impossible to do ourselves. In that time, I have attempted many things, learned from those attempts, and been quite proud of my accomplishments. I have him to thank for that.

As I was contemplating all of this today, I realized, now, I have to learn how to sharpen a mower blade. Now, I have to remember how to change a flat tire, now I have decide whether I attempt minor plumbing repairs, in addition to a multitude of other things. Impossible tasks? Nope. But ones I have let someone else do over these many years.

As I was thinking about all of this. I wondered, what did I give him? Was there a gift of me to him?

I can't really think of any. I have no special talents, I am atrociously bad when it comes to mechanical things, I can do many types of home renovation, as long as they are simple, like painting or wall papering (neither of which I do well, but I can do them). There are many things I do around the house, hanging pictures, arranging furniture, cleaning, minor (very minor) carpentry, but the big stuff and much of the little stuff, he did.

Emotionally, politically, even somewhat intellectually, we are very different people. But I do have to realize, that somehow, for over 27 years, there were parts of us, that complemented each other. I will miss that.

In the grand scheme of things, I know that what I am doing is best for us both, but, I also have to wonder, what is about me, that he will miss?

Just for the heck of it, some really cool bugs I saw today.

Fragile

I am weary, so weary this evening. A day away from the office, spent with the Caregivers/Family members, of the victims of Alzheimer's Disease, thus a day filled with many emotions, humor was there in full force, one cannot survive such a life without that, yet so much sadness. Several times my eyes filled with unshed tears this day, engendered by the Caregivers themselves, or in one such instance by a victim of the disease herself, who is in the early stages of the disease, and missing her life as it was before. A devastating illness, that leaves its own legacy of pain, fear, grief, and, yet, there was joy too, and so much love.


One of those days when emotions are fragile, feeling as if I could be blown away by the slightest sigh of a breeze.


I feel as if I am playing the waiting game. My attorney did not file the paperwork as he was supposed to last Friday. I had the strangest feeling of uneasiness on Tuesday morning, and made the decision I needed to double-check, just to be sure all was in order. After three phone calls, I learned it was not. The office was closed when I finally had the opportunity to call. At this point, I can only hope the petition was finally filed today.

Once again, I wait, and wait. Not knowing when my soon-to-be-ex-husband will receive THE LETTER. Not knowing if his reaction will be more anger, or some other emotion.

Not knowing, and waiting.

Life goes on, one breath at at time, one inhale, one exhale, as we move ever onward.

"Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is." ~German Proverb~

Mr. Son in concern for me the day after I moved out of my marital home, found a quote for me, that he had at one time memorized. I watched as he scanned the bookshelves, until, he found what he was looking for. He picked the book from the shelf, opened it, and found the quote within seconds. He then read it to me, twice.

I thanked him, and, requested he write it out for me, which he did. I took it to work with me, placed in a desk drawer I save for just such special items, and on several occasions since, I have lifted that piece of paper from its special position in the drawer, and read it. It was exactly what I needed to hear that night. There are days to come, that I know, I will continually pick it up, read through the words, and take comfort from them, but more importantly, I take comfort from the young man who gave them to me.

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."
~ Frank Herbert, Dune - Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear~

I imparted the news to my husband last night, that I had filed the petition for divorce. I had spent days worrying, fearing, or, (as one dear friend told me) "wound up tightly" with those emotions controlling me. But, I knew that I had to tell the man I have spent the last 30 years of life with, the decision I had made. He was not pleased. In fact he was quite angry. I survived, we all have survived, and I will continue to survive, hopefully with as few emotional wounds for all as can be managed. Life does goes on.

Cell Phone Courtesy vs. Divorce

My mind has been wandering anywhere and everywhere the past few days, except sticking to what I should be thinking about.

Cell phone courtesy has been one of the places my mind has been visiting. In recent weeks, there have been innumerable times, when I have been on the cell phone, and someone will walk up to me and start talking. What I find more exacerbating, I will answer them back!

If I am speaking on a land-line phone, and someone enters the room wishing to speak with me, they will wait until I am off the phone. A common courtesy we have all been taught. But, when I am on a cell phone, that common courtesy seems to disappear. I have asked myself, why that is? What is different?

My feeble brain pondered...... My hair is thick and long, the cell phone is small, thus not easy to see at first. Although why I would stand holding my ear for any length of time, I do not know. The interrupter does not see the phone in my hand. OK, that makes some sense to me. But why do I allow the interruption? Why do I answer them?

When using a land-line phone, I am not used to being interrupted, I am used to a person politely waiting until I finish the call, or writing me a note, or mouthing the words "I really need to speak to you now!" At which point, I end the call, or soon thereafter. But on the cell, that doesn't happen, they speak and I answer, it is a quandary to me. I think it is a combination of things. I answer because when someone speaks to me, I respond. I may even momentarily forget I am on the cell. When that happens, I hopefully remember to excuse myself from the person on the other end of the phone...but there have been times when I haven't.....I feel rude when I do that, I feel as if I have committed a breach of common etiquette and politeness. But it has happened over and over. I then wondered, is it the technology itself, the portability of it? It has a different aspect to it, we can speak on the phone anywhere (except a deadzone), and it feels different than being tied to a land-line?

I haven't found the answer yet. I do know, I don't do it to someone else. If I need to speak with someone, and I see they are on their cell phone. I wait. Simple. Same as if they were on a land-line.

I started thinking about when I taught my children not to interrupt a phone conversation. Remembering how they would run up to me, excited, needing to express their thoughts, and I would hold up one finger, asking them to wait. Often times that would not work, they would just keep rattling away in their quick excited childish voices, I would then, excuse myself from the caller, explain to my children that I was in the middle of a conversation, and would listen to them when the conversation ended. Many times, they would stand there in front of me, jumping up and down, allowing me to see their need to tell me now! At which point if it was possible, I would tell the person on the other end of the phone, I would call them back later if they were agreeable. It had to occur several times, but my children soon learned to wait, they learned that I would end a conversation and give them my full attention as soon as possible.

So why the difference with cell phones? Again, it could be their very portability. It could be the instantaneousness (the fast food mentality) of our culture. It could be a lack of common courtesies being practiced now.

I do know, I am falling into the trap, and I don't like it. I like being courteous, I like receiving courtesy in return. I do know I will be much more aware of how I respond the next time it happens.......or at least I hope I am.

Silly ponderings that get me nowhere in what I have to do, but have proved successful in distracting me several times today.

I have to tell my husband the paperwork has been filed. The DIVORCE process has truly begun.

I have imagined every possible scenario, from the very worst (extreme emotion on either end of the spectrum), to one in which he shows no emotion, or, he exhibits relief the marriage is over. Will I get so lucky to see that, hear that? Him feeling relief?

How will I feel if he does exhibit a sense of relief? I think it would be painful, even though I am the one who left, even though I am the one that has said this life is not working, I have to admit, it would be very painful if he expresses no remorse that our marriage is over. Although, I have been the catalyst for this change, I am abjectly sorry that a 30 year relationship has ended.
I have wondered, he has made no attempt to speak to me, about my moving out, the possibility of divorcing or getting back together in the past almost 30 days. He hasn't for the past two years, why do I think he would now? I have asked myself, would I? If the situation were reversed? If I loved him, I would, no matter how much pain I felt at his rejection, if I truly thought our marriage could be saved, I would, I know that.

I have no idea what to expect at this point. Emotions are locked tightly away, they seep out through the cracks in my wall, but I quickly stuff them back in. I have used vodka two nights now to not think about what I have to face........I am not happy about that. (but, Ginger/Lime Martinis are really good!)

I must sound really really pessimistic when I speak with others. All keep trying to put a positive spin on it. Several friends have told me, "This is the hardest part, the not knowing, the unknown. It will get easier after this"

Yes, it is true, the unknown is usually the thing that frightens and/or exhilarates most people. I am no different, and my life is full of unknowns right now. I am frightened of causing him more pain, of seeing his pain. I am frightened of his possible reactions, I am frightened of experiencing his anger. Mostly, I am frightened of the not knowing, the uncertainty. Time to take a deep breath, and another, to let it flow through me, and past me. Time to, just DO IT! Now if only Miss Daughter were not there at his house. I can't tell him, until she is gone. This is not a discussion she needs to be in the middle of.

So I wait, and wait, and wait...................

Ok, back to the cell phone quandary, and other distractions.

Choosing My Life

There are many ways I can live happily, I know that now, and it is not the place I live, what is in it, or where it is. Or, even who is in my life that effects that happiness. My future happiness will be effected by how I choose to live. From this point on in my life, I really want to make choices, knowing that I made a decison because it was the best I could do at the time, not because it was the easier one.

* * * * * * *

A thought process that started when I wrote a response to an email from a friend. Making good choices. Something that has become very important to me. Especially the last thought in the last sentence......making a choice because it is the best choice, not because it is easier......

Many times throughout my life, I have ended up making choices, by not making them. By not doing, by procrastinating on the hard stuff, thus, the choice was made for me. I have a long way to grow, but it is my hope for myself, for becoming a better me, that I learn to make those choices no matter how difficult, no matter how unsavory they may feel, because they are the best for me, and anyone else effected by my choices.

I told my children yesterday, that the paperwork has been filed, that the Divorce process has truly started. I apologized to them, for breaking up our family, the family they have grown up with. Both of them did not accept my apology. They did not think one was needed. They both have the hope, that in the future, we will all live happier more fulfilling lives now. These last few years, have taken their toll on all four of us. I have seen it, lived it, and let it go on for way too long.

I can look back over the years, and know now, that my children did witness some aspects of our marital relationship that were loving, and honest. But I have to also face the fact, that most of the years of their lives, they witnessed the opposite. My hopes and dreams for them is that they will have learned to see that a loving relationship does not have to be like the one they have witnessed. I believe they both know it takes the two people involved working together to succeed, as well as it takes two to fail. I have not tried to gloss over, or hide my own failings, they know that. They each love their father in the only way they can, my hope is that as they each become adults, the relationship they have with him will grow into one of trust and friendship, that it moves beyond just father/child love.

The relationships they seemed more unsure of were those with their father's extended family. They each have their favorite relatives, they each have also seen how easily that family judges others and finds them wanting. Yet, in turn, these two loves of my life, also judge the paternal side of their extended family, because of that very judging. One of the conundrums of being human? Anyway, Mr. Son expressed some doubts about the future of those relations. The only advice I could give him, was to continue to try to view them all in a loving and open-minded way, to continue to visit with them, when they visited his father, to continue just being himself. They do love him, many feel disappointed that he has not exploited his inborn talents and intelligence, but they do love him for who he is. I want him to remember that.

Mr. Son, and I ended up conversing for several hours last night, on a variety of topics....we always ramble away on many subjects, that are somehow all interconnected in a way that may only make sense to us. But, during our rambles, he did profess that he loves his father, knows that his father loves him. Knows that they each have disappointed the other. Mr. Son, stated that he has much to thank his father for. Having a strong work ethic was one....he then embellished that statement with..."Yes, Mom, I know you don't see that here at home, but when I am working for someone else, they do get my very best." I knew that, I always have, it has been his form of 'rebellion' against us as his parents to appear lazy and unwilling to work along beside us. But, I have seen his dedication to his employers, I have always known he has it in him. He also said he has his father to thank, for his feeling of self-reliance, he has learned much from him over the years, and feels as if he can do anything, or at least feel confident in making the attempt. I am happy that he can see positives in a relationship that has been so very strained for many years.

Mr. Son, also articulated a feeling, that I am not sure I ever truly understood. In the past two years, since he has lived away from home, he rarely made home visits when his father was awake, he always appeared late at night, or when he knew he would not be home. More rarely, he would visit when I was not home, but his father was. I always attributed it to the sadness in the very air of our home. I spent so many months unable to come out from behind my fog of melancholy that I could not see beyond it. But, my loving, perceptive son said, there was more than sadness, there was anger, so much anger filling the atmosphere of our home, and he had a very hard time dealing with that.

Unspoken anger, unspoken sadness, unspoken anguish, unspoken pain, unhealed wounds. The very reasons, a marriage has ended. It was time, well-past time.

A choice that was postponed too long, but finally made. A choice that may be end up being one of the more loving I have ever made.

I have that hope.