It's been about three years since I wrote anything here. I wish I had wonderful tales to tell of great personal accomplishments. Instead, I'm here to write of the same ol' same ol'.
I feel like I've spent a majority of my life fighting a battle I'm destined to lose. I know many would stop me right there and say that's why I'll never win... I have a negative attitude. No. I have a realistic attitude. I'm freaking forty-four-years-old, and I'm still facing the same mountain I've faced most of my life. The odds are not in my favor.
I've taken many journeys, in hopes of reaching the other side. I've even neared the top a couple of times, only to hopelessly fall right back to where I started. Right now, I don't only feel as though I'm back at the bottom of this giant mountain; I feel like I'm mired down in mud at the bottom, and I've been trampled. The desire to reach the goal is still real, but all motivation to do so is gone.
"...you can see the summit, but you can't reach it... the last piece of the puzzle, but you just can't make it fit... doctor says you're cured, but you still feel the pain... aspirations in the clouds, but your hopes go down the drain..."
This is an anthem for my life. 2015 and 2016 were some of my darkest days, emotionally. I was stressed beyond belief. Ironically, it was also during this time that I worked the hardest at reaching the summit. I was successful. I reached the one-year mark and almost believed that I had finally found the key to long-term success. Then, BAM! What should have been a simple gallbladder removal in July 2016 turned into a still-ongoing nightmare. Multiple doctors have told me I was cured, after three surgeries in total, but the pain continues to revisit me. I wouldn't feel healthy ever again. I only thought food had been my worst enemy in my life up to that point. I didn't know just how hellish it could be. Food is my worst enemy and my only comfort. It's killing me and keeping me sane, at the same time. No. It's literally KILLING me. I'm convinced. Will a doctor ever figure it out? My confidence in that is low.
Food addiction is not like any other addiction. I cannot go cold turkey. I can't detox from all food. Food addiction demands that you harness the demons. You can't just turn and run from them. You can't just eliminate that element of your life. You must wake up and face it every single day of your life. You must fight the demons, not only once per day but sometimes many times each day. The defeat of failure is very real. It's a dark place. The self-hate and inner dialogue is poisonous and plentiful.
Yes. I'm wallowing in the mud at the bottom of this giant right now. I could bury my face in the mud and give up, but I have just enough energy left to keep looking at that summit. As long as I'm still looking up, there's still a glimmer of hope.
Friday, May 3, 2019
Thursday, March 31, 2016
Small moments. Big changes.
March 31st. This day always makes me stop and think about how the course of one's life can change in the smallest of moments. It was on this day, 25 years ago, that I was cruising town with a couple of girlfriends, when we ran across a 1980 Z-28 Camaro with three guys in it. On a whim, we stopped to talk to these three strangers. One of those strangers was my now husband, Reuben. The rest, as they say, is history.
On this particular March 31st, I'm left thinking about a few other small moments filled with big changes. Two weeks ago today, my mother died. Well, she clinically died. She was preparing to leave the local Christian medical clinic, where she volunteers twice a week, when she suddenly collapsed. Thankfully, she was surrounded by ladies that instantly knew something was seriously wrong. Only office staff were present that day. Although the clinic is attached to the hospital, it is separately affiliated, so they had to call 9-1-1 for help. While waiting for the ambulance to arrive, one of the ladies rushed down the corridor to find a doctor that could help. She located a nurse in the office next to theirs, who was able to find a doctor. Dr. Cochran immediately followed them back to the clinic, where he was able to begin CPR on my mother. For a medical clinic, the office wasn't equipped for such an emergency, and the doctor found himself without the tools necessary. He continued chest compressions while his nurse called the Code Blue over the hospital's intercom. A crash team from the ER and cardiac unit arrived, along with paramedics. After nearly fifteen minutes and somewhere in the neighborhood of seven shocks from a defibrillator, my mom's heart was once again beating on its own. Somewhere in the chaos of all of this happening, a friend of my mom's was able to reach my dad by phone. She relayed to him that my mom had fallen, was unconscious, and was being taken to the ER. He was about fifty miles away at the time, so he called me, knowing I could get there a little quicker than he could. I was about thirty miles away. What followed was an agonizingly long drive to town, while stuck in a long line of traffic. A million things run through your mind in a moment like this. Initially, I imagined my mom falling on some stairs or something and hitting her head. I was concerned but not panicked. I assumed I would make the trip to the ER, spend a few hours there while they treated her, and be home at a reasonable time that evening. The longer that drive became, the more grave my thoughts turned. My mother's brother had collapsed and died unexpectedly just days after I had graduated high school. He was 55. Even though I had run through several scenarios in my mind, I wasn't prepared for what followed. The parking for the ER was completely full, which left me entering the hospital's main entrance. I didn't know the quickest way to get to the ER, so I stopped at the Help Desk for directions. By this time, I had been running and was slightly panicked. The two elderly ladies at the desk obviously weren't picking up on the fact that I was frantic, as they started asking for the patient's name, room number, how she came in, etc. I cut them off, telling them that I didn't know the details, but my mom was working at the Christian Clinic when.... their unison gasp told me this wasn't a minor fall and passing out. One of the ladies insisted upon ushering me to the ER instead of just telling me how to get there. This slowed my pace considerably, but I complied. I was met at the doors of the ER by a number of ladies with grief-stricken faces. They all gasped and surrounded me, telling me that I needed to get back there to my mom. I was trying to do just that when a nurse intercepted me to say that the doctor needed to speak to me before I entered. She showed me to a consultation room, where the band of ladies asked if they could follow. I've watched a lot of documentary-style medical shows in my time. I love medicine. I know that nothing good ever comes from being taken to one of these rooms. I found myself bracing for the worst while I waited for the doctor to come in. As he explained that my mom had a pulse and was somewhat stable, I knew I wouldn't be going home at a leisurely pace that evening. I knew everything had changed in the blink of an eye. My dad arrived within a few minutes, and I watched him crumple into silent sobs as the doctor started over with the information he had. The Lord helped me manage to keep my emotions in check while I devoured every word the doctor said. I knew my dad wasn't really hearing anything more than his wife was alive but still at risk of death or brain damage. I knew one of us needed to absorb exactly what we were being told. She wasn't conscious. She was on a ventilator. Her blood pressure was very low. They had given her sedation that would give her amnesia, if her brain function was even intact. They were hoping to get the blood pressure up enough to take her to CT scan to check for any brain bleeds, while on the way to ICU. What followed were more miracles. My mom regained consciousness about four hours later. It was obvious that her memory was affected by the medication, but it was also obvious that she knew us. She could communicate, first with hand movements and later with pen and paper. Another twelve hours would bring the removal of the ventilator. The next day would bring an angiogram, showing no heart damage or blockages. A few days later would bring the implantation of an ICD, a defibrillator that would automatically shock her heart back into rhythm if this awful thing were ever to happen, again. One more day would bring her back home. Each day at home brings her a little closer to "normal." I can't even begin to express the impact of many small moments. Some were heart-wrenching. Even more were filled with relief and joy. While I know she still has a battle ahead, physically and emotionally, I'm just so very thankful that all of those small moments added up to her still being with us.
Now, moving on to other small moments. Tomorrow, my firstborn will turn twenty. His teenage years will end. He gave me the greatest gift I could have ever imagined. He gave me purpose. I had always loved kids, and kids had always loved me. It didn't matter if they were strangers. Little kids had always been drawn to me. Even so, none of that could have prepared me for the love I would have for my own little child. Robbie was born a perfect baby. He was laid-back and so easy to care for. That's not to say that I didn't have moments of mommy frustration, but they were minimal. He wasn't demanding. His big, dark eyes were beautiful. He was my whole world. Everyone and everything else faded into the background. He was mine. He needed me. As he grew, it became obvious that he was super bright. He was inquisitive and a quick learner. And he was oh so adorable. You couldn't help but love him. I knew sending him off to school would be harder on me than on him. I was right. I was lost without him there. He became more and more independent, and I had baby number two, Brady. The drift had begun. He had been a little lifeboat, tied to my side, and now he was slowly drifting off into his own big world. Saturday, he will marry his best friend. And while I'm happy that he has found someone to love, who also loves him, I'm left feeling like he's in a whole different ocean now. I miss that little lifeboat being tied to my side. I miss being the most important girl in his world. I miss him coming to me when he needed something. And it will take but a short, small moment for him to say, "I do," and fade further into the sunset of my life.
Treasure every small moment, friends. The smallest of these moments can become monumental.
On this particular March 31st, I'm left thinking about a few other small moments filled with big changes. Two weeks ago today, my mother died. Well, she clinically died. She was preparing to leave the local Christian medical clinic, where she volunteers twice a week, when she suddenly collapsed. Thankfully, she was surrounded by ladies that instantly knew something was seriously wrong. Only office staff were present that day. Although the clinic is attached to the hospital, it is separately affiliated, so they had to call 9-1-1 for help. While waiting for the ambulance to arrive, one of the ladies rushed down the corridor to find a doctor that could help. She located a nurse in the office next to theirs, who was able to find a doctor. Dr. Cochran immediately followed them back to the clinic, where he was able to begin CPR on my mother. For a medical clinic, the office wasn't equipped for such an emergency, and the doctor found himself without the tools necessary. He continued chest compressions while his nurse called the Code Blue over the hospital's intercom. A crash team from the ER and cardiac unit arrived, along with paramedics. After nearly fifteen minutes and somewhere in the neighborhood of seven shocks from a defibrillator, my mom's heart was once again beating on its own. Somewhere in the chaos of all of this happening, a friend of my mom's was able to reach my dad by phone. She relayed to him that my mom had fallen, was unconscious, and was being taken to the ER. He was about fifty miles away at the time, so he called me, knowing I could get there a little quicker than he could. I was about thirty miles away. What followed was an agonizingly long drive to town, while stuck in a long line of traffic. A million things run through your mind in a moment like this. Initially, I imagined my mom falling on some stairs or something and hitting her head. I was concerned but not panicked. I assumed I would make the trip to the ER, spend a few hours there while they treated her, and be home at a reasonable time that evening. The longer that drive became, the more grave my thoughts turned. My mother's brother had collapsed and died unexpectedly just days after I had graduated high school. He was 55. Even though I had run through several scenarios in my mind, I wasn't prepared for what followed. The parking for the ER was completely full, which left me entering the hospital's main entrance. I didn't know the quickest way to get to the ER, so I stopped at the Help Desk for directions. By this time, I had been running and was slightly panicked. The two elderly ladies at the desk obviously weren't picking up on the fact that I was frantic, as they started asking for the patient's name, room number, how she came in, etc. I cut them off, telling them that I didn't know the details, but my mom was working at the Christian Clinic when.... their unison gasp told me this wasn't a minor fall and passing out. One of the ladies insisted upon ushering me to the ER instead of just telling me how to get there. This slowed my pace considerably, but I complied. I was met at the doors of the ER by a number of ladies with grief-stricken faces. They all gasped and surrounded me, telling me that I needed to get back there to my mom. I was trying to do just that when a nurse intercepted me to say that the doctor needed to speak to me before I entered. She showed me to a consultation room, where the band of ladies asked if they could follow. I've watched a lot of documentary-style medical shows in my time. I love medicine. I know that nothing good ever comes from being taken to one of these rooms. I found myself bracing for the worst while I waited for the doctor to come in. As he explained that my mom had a pulse and was somewhat stable, I knew I wouldn't be going home at a leisurely pace that evening. I knew everything had changed in the blink of an eye. My dad arrived within a few minutes, and I watched him crumple into silent sobs as the doctor started over with the information he had. The Lord helped me manage to keep my emotions in check while I devoured every word the doctor said. I knew my dad wasn't really hearing anything more than his wife was alive but still at risk of death or brain damage. I knew one of us needed to absorb exactly what we were being told. She wasn't conscious. She was on a ventilator. Her blood pressure was very low. They had given her sedation that would give her amnesia, if her brain function was even intact. They were hoping to get the blood pressure up enough to take her to CT scan to check for any brain bleeds, while on the way to ICU. What followed were more miracles. My mom regained consciousness about four hours later. It was obvious that her memory was affected by the medication, but it was also obvious that she knew us. She could communicate, first with hand movements and later with pen and paper. Another twelve hours would bring the removal of the ventilator. The next day would bring an angiogram, showing no heart damage or blockages. A few days later would bring the implantation of an ICD, a defibrillator that would automatically shock her heart back into rhythm if this awful thing were ever to happen, again. One more day would bring her back home. Each day at home brings her a little closer to "normal." I can't even begin to express the impact of many small moments. Some were heart-wrenching. Even more were filled with relief and joy. While I know she still has a battle ahead, physically and emotionally, I'm just so very thankful that all of those small moments added up to her still being with us.
Now, moving on to other small moments. Tomorrow, my firstborn will turn twenty. His teenage years will end. He gave me the greatest gift I could have ever imagined. He gave me purpose. I had always loved kids, and kids had always loved me. It didn't matter if they were strangers. Little kids had always been drawn to me. Even so, none of that could have prepared me for the love I would have for my own little child. Robbie was born a perfect baby. He was laid-back and so easy to care for. That's not to say that I didn't have moments of mommy frustration, but they were minimal. He wasn't demanding. His big, dark eyes were beautiful. He was my whole world. Everyone and everything else faded into the background. He was mine. He needed me. As he grew, it became obvious that he was super bright. He was inquisitive and a quick learner. And he was oh so adorable. You couldn't help but love him. I knew sending him off to school would be harder on me than on him. I was right. I was lost without him there. He became more and more independent, and I had baby number two, Brady. The drift had begun. He had been a little lifeboat, tied to my side, and now he was slowly drifting off into his own big world. Saturday, he will marry his best friend. And while I'm happy that he has found someone to love, who also loves him, I'm left feeling like he's in a whole different ocean now. I miss that little lifeboat being tied to my side. I miss being the most important girl in his world. I miss him coming to me when he needed something. And it will take but a short, small moment for him to say, "I do," and fade further into the sunset of my life.
Treasure every small moment, friends. The smallest of these moments can become monumental.
Friday, March 4, 2016
Here she comes...
Today was a good day. I woke up to our kitty, Mr. T, sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. He likes to get up there and play with the odds and ends sitting there. It's his way of waking me up. He knows I'll get up and let him out if he makes enough noise. And so I did this morning. Daylight was just breaking. It's getting light earlier and earlier as we ease into Spring.
I have gotten in the habit of taking daily walks through our property. Some days, I walk just the fields, and on others, I walk the woods, also. Most of the time, I walk in silence and just listen to the sounds of nature around me, birds chirping, squirrels and chipmunks scampering in the leaves, the breeze through the trees. The last few days I've been listening to some music while I walk. I have about five different versions of "I Surrender All" on my phone. I play them over and over and even sing along part of the time. It's a special kind of peacefulness. I started with those same five today and listened to them each a couple of times. Then, I decided to listen to some Steven Curtis Chapman. His "Beauty Will Rise" album is one of my absolute favorites. It was written in the wake of tragically losing his little girl, and the raw emotion of the songs tugs at my heart. When each song ends, I think, THAT is the best song. Then, another one plays, and I wonder how he wrote an even better song than the last. When you are feeling sad, the words speak to your aching heart. When you are content, the words remind you of how blessed you are. I listened today and thought about how bad things can happen to anyone. Steven is a famous, successful Christian artist and still suffered an unimaginable loss. I thought of Joey + Rory and the struggle they've been sharing publicly. When we go through terrible times, it's easy to blame God or question why we are being punished. Truth is, everybody hurts... sometimes. (To steal a line from R.E.M.) All of the songs on the "Beauty Will Rise" album are wonderful, and my favorite song changes, according to my mood. Two that always stand out to me, though, are "Jesus Will Meet You There" and "Questions." If you find yourself hurting and wondering how you'll survive, listen to these songs. You'll receive a blessing, just as I did while walking the woods today.
I got on Facebook just a few minutes ago and learned of Joey's passing today. I've followed their blog for several months now and have been expecting this sad news for a while. It was still very sad to hear. Rory posted a beautiful video of Joey receiving a video message from Dolly Parton recently. She loved Dolly and had never met her. It was so touching. Famous people are just people, too. It's nice to be reminded of that, occasionally. And so, tonight, I will cry for this stranger, this lovely lady taken from this world so soon. My heart will take comfort in knowing that she just made her journey from one shore to another, though, and is rejoicing with her Savior for all of eternity.
I have gotten in the habit of taking daily walks through our property. Some days, I walk just the fields, and on others, I walk the woods, also. Most of the time, I walk in silence and just listen to the sounds of nature around me, birds chirping, squirrels and chipmunks scampering in the leaves, the breeze through the trees. The last few days I've been listening to some music while I walk. I have about five different versions of "I Surrender All" on my phone. I play them over and over and even sing along part of the time. It's a special kind of peacefulness. I started with those same five today and listened to them each a couple of times. Then, I decided to listen to some Steven Curtis Chapman. His "Beauty Will Rise" album is one of my absolute favorites. It was written in the wake of tragically losing his little girl, and the raw emotion of the songs tugs at my heart. When each song ends, I think, THAT is the best song. Then, another one plays, and I wonder how he wrote an even better song than the last. When you are feeling sad, the words speak to your aching heart. When you are content, the words remind you of how blessed you are. I listened today and thought about how bad things can happen to anyone. Steven is a famous, successful Christian artist and still suffered an unimaginable loss. I thought of Joey + Rory and the struggle they've been sharing publicly. When we go through terrible times, it's easy to blame God or question why we are being punished. Truth is, everybody hurts... sometimes. (To steal a line from R.E.M.) All of the songs on the "Beauty Will Rise" album are wonderful, and my favorite song changes, according to my mood. Two that always stand out to me, though, are "Jesus Will Meet You There" and "Questions." If you find yourself hurting and wondering how you'll survive, listen to these songs. You'll receive a blessing, just as I did while walking the woods today.
I got on Facebook just a few minutes ago and learned of Joey's passing today. I've followed their blog for several months now and have been expecting this sad news for a while. It was still very sad to hear. Rory posted a beautiful video of Joey receiving a video message from Dolly Parton recently. She loved Dolly and had never met her. It was so touching. Famous people are just people, too. It's nice to be reminded of that, occasionally. And so, tonight, I will cry for this stranger, this lovely lady taken from this world so soon. My heart will take comfort in knowing that she just made her journey from one shore to another, though, and is rejoicing with her Savior for all of eternity.
Saturday, December 12, 2015
Mirror, mirror....
Men lie. Bottom line. It's an instinctive thing.
I have a closet full of clothes. Some of the clothes are too big. Some are too small. It's an ever-evolving thing. Trying to find an acceptable outfit to wear in public is grueling. I have, literally, spent hours looking for something to wear before. When I finally settle on something to try on, I need an outside opinion. Now, I have a husband and two boys. I try not to be an abusive mother, so I seek out my husband for fashion advice.
Men will not tell you the truth about how you look in an outfit. They are incapable. I am convinced that, over the years, men have lost the ability to process questions like, "How does this look?" or "Is this too tight?" or the dreaded, "Does this make me look fat?" Upon hearing any of those phrases and dozens more like them, the brain shifts into neutral and ceases to function. The mouth takes over and automatically spits out an answer. The man has no idea what he's said, because his brain doesn't even consider the question. I think it's an instinctive defense mechanism that takes over in order to avoid conflict.
I know men lie, because I have eyeballs that see. It doesn't matter what outfit I model to my husband, he's not going to tell me that I look like crap. However, I can see, and we own mirrors. That's not to say that mirrors can't lie, too, because they can. You don't think so? Just have someone take an unexpected photo of you sometime. You'll see what I'm talking about.
My usual routine would go something like this.... I walk in wearing the proposed outfit. I ask, "How does this outfit look? Is it too tight on me?" Before I can even spin around to show him the 360-degree view, an answer has popped out of his mouth. I've recently changed up my modeling routine to bypass this autopilot response thing from my husband. Now, I will approach him with two or three different outfits, modeling each one, and ask him to pick which one is best. I can't be certain, but I think, in this instance, his brain shifts into the mode used when you have a multiple choice question on a test and don't know the answer...."B"...??? I have reasons to doubt his choices. I've been known to throw in outfits that I KNOW don't look good just to see if he'll choose it. Mmmhmmm. Men lie.
All of that being said, I need to go find clothes for tonight. I have a closet full of clothes and nothing to wear!
I have a closet full of clothes. Some of the clothes are too big. Some are too small. It's an ever-evolving thing. Trying to find an acceptable outfit to wear in public is grueling. I have, literally, spent hours looking for something to wear before. When I finally settle on something to try on, I need an outside opinion. Now, I have a husband and two boys. I try not to be an abusive mother, so I seek out my husband for fashion advice.
Men will not tell you the truth about how you look in an outfit. They are incapable. I am convinced that, over the years, men have lost the ability to process questions like, "How does this look?" or "Is this too tight?" or the dreaded, "Does this make me look fat?" Upon hearing any of those phrases and dozens more like them, the brain shifts into neutral and ceases to function. The mouth takes over and automatically spits out an answer. The man has no idea what he's said, because his brain doesn't even consider the question. I think it's an instinctive defense mechanism that takes over in order to avoid conflict.
I know men lie, because I have eyeballs that see. It doesn't matter what outfit I model to my husband, he's not going to tell me that I look like crap. However, I can see, and we own mirrors. That's not to say that mirrors can't lie, too, because they can. You don't think so? Just have someone take an unexpected photo of you sometime. You'll see what I'm talking about.
My usual routine would go something like this.... I walk in wearing the proposed outfit. I ask, "How does this outfit look? Is it too tight on me?" Before I can even spin around to show him the 360-degree view, an answer has popped out of his mouth. I've recently changed up my modeling routine to bypass this autopilot response thing from my husband. Now, I will approach him with two or three different outfits, modeling each one, and ask him to pick which one is best. I can't be certain, but I think, in this instance, his brain shifts into the mode used when you have a multiple choice question on a test and don't know the answer...."B"...??? I have reasons to doubt his choices. I've been known to throw in outfits that I KNOW don't look good just to see if he'll choose it. Mmmhmmm. Men lie.
All of that being said, I need to go find clothes for tonight. I have a closet full of clothes and nothing to wear!
Monday, August 24, 2015
Now what?
"Life ain't always beautiful." That's a lyric from a song I love. It's a lyric that describes this particular season of my life. I'm having an identity crisis of sorts. I just don't know where I fit into this world of ours and what my role is, anymore.
Once upon a time, I wanted to be a doctor. I was a smart kid. I was confident that I could be a doctor if I wanted to be one. I didn't want to be a nurse. I have the utmost respect for nurses, but I'm just not one. I don't possess the skills necessary for that job. Being a surgeon suited me more. I still love to watch medical procedures. I won't lie. There are a couple of things that gross me out. Seeing badly broken bones that twist limbs into unnatural positions creeps me out. Also, dealing with eyeballs would not be my cup of tea. Other than those two areas, I'm not affected too much by blood and gore.
Somewhere around high school, my focus shifted, though. I, like most girls at the time, began my search for the guy I would spend my life with. Along with that shift, came a longing to be a wife and mother. My desire to be a rich, successful doctor dissipated. A mom. That's what I wanted to be. Kids had always loved me, and I loved them. It just felt like the natural choice for me. Any plans to make a life centered around me and a profession were abandoned.
I had my first son when I was twenty-one. He truly was the perfect baby. Sure. I remember sleepless nights and a lot of overwhelming moments, but we really couldn't have asked for a better baby. He was rarely fussy. He could sleep anywhere you put him. He was just pleasant. He grew into the most adorable toddler, and we were inseparable. We spent our days watching Barney, reading books, going shopping, and just having fun. He would always tell me that he loved me and I was the best mommy in the world. Fulfilled? Yes, I was. When it came time for him to start Kindergarten, I was all alone. The 9/11 attacks happened that fall, and I was left wondering if having only one child was the right choice. You would think a terrible thing like that would make you rethink bringing children into this crazy world, but it had the opposite affect on me. It made me feel like our family was incomplete. My second son was born nine months later. Not to sound mean, but he was not the perfect baby. He cried and cried and cried some more. Four months I slept upright in a recliner with him on my chest. It was the only way he would sleep. I nearly lost my mind. Then, just like a switch had been flipped, he stopped. He's been a joy ever since. He's the total opposite of his brother but still such a good kid. In the blink of an eye, they're growing up, and you find yourself running from one activity to another. The motherhood role is now about logistics. Get from point A to point B on time. Feed them. Clothe them. Send them to school. Pick them up. Go here. Go there. It's exhausting but rewarding in its own way. They're happy. They're well-behaved. You're succeeding. You're still the most important girl in their lives. They depend on you.
Then, one day, one leaves. You've done your job. No more activities to juggle. No more meals to prepare. No more shopping for clothes. No more worrying about how their hair looks or if they washed behind their ears. Now, there's a new girl in their life whose opinion is the only one that matters. They aren't "yours," anymore. And every argument and harsh word you ever spoke to them haunts you. Did I do enough? I should have done differently. I should have made more happy memories while I could. It's too late. You know it's the natural progression of life. You know there will be new happiness in their adult accomplishments. Still, it hurts, and you mourn for the chance to go back and do things over.
Now, my days are spent alone. It's too late to become that doctor now. I feel like I should find a job, but I still have one teenager at home, and I'm not about to miss any of his activities. I guess I'll try to be a secretary or something like that with a daytime schedule. The only problem is I'm forty years old and have no recent work experience of any kind. I try for a couple of positions, thinking I can convince them that I'm still smart enough to do the job. It doesn't work. So, now what? Now what? That is the question of my life. When facing a crisis like this, every past and present failure rushes to the forefront of your mind. You question every choice you've ever made. It's a lonely place to be, alone with your thoughts.
Once upon a time, I wanted to be a doctor. I was a smart kid. I was confident that I could be a doctor if I wanted to be one. I didn't want to be a nurse. I have the utmost respect for nurses, but I'm just not one. I don't possess the skills necessary for that job. Being a surgeon suited me more. I still love to watch medical procedures. I won't lie. There are a couple of things that gross me out. Seeing badly broken bones that twist limbs into unnatural positions creeps me out. Also, dealing with eyeballs would not be my cup of tea. Other than those two areas, I'm not affected too much by blood and gore.
Somewhere around high school, my focus shifted, though. I, like most girls at the time, began my search for the guy I would spend my life with. Along with that shift, came a longing to be a wife and mother. My desire to be a rich, successful doctor dissipated. A mom. That's what I wanted to be. Kids had always loved me, and I loved them. It just felt like the natural choice for me. Any plans to make a life centered around me and a profession were abandoned.
I had my first son when I was twenty-one. He truly was the perfect baby. Sure. I remember sleepless nights and a lot of overwhelming moments, but we really couldn't have asked for a better baby. He was rarely fussy. He could sleep anywhere you put him. He was just pleasant. He grew into the most adorable toddler, and we were inseparable. We spent our days watching Barney, reading books, going shopping, and just having fun. He would always tell me that he loved me and I was the best mommy in the world. Fulfilled? Yes, I was. When it came time for him to start Kindergarten, I was all alone. The 9/11 attacks happened that fall, and I was left wondering if having only one child was the right choice. You would think a terrible thing like that would make you rethink bringing children into this crazy world, but it had the opposite affect on me. It made me feel like our family was incomplete. My second son was born nine months later. Not to sound mean, but he was not the perfect baby. He cried and cried and cried some more. Four months I slept upright in a recliner with him on my chest. It was the only way he would sleep. I nearly lost my mind. Then, just like a switch had been flipped, he stopped. He's been a joy ever since. He's the total opposite of his brother but still such a good kid. In the blink of an eye, they're growing up, and you find yourself running from one activity to another. The motherhood role is now about logistics. Get from point A to point B on time. Feed them. Clothe them. Send them to school. Pick them up. Go here. Go there. It's exhausting but rewarding in its own way. They're happy. They're well-behaved. You're succeeding. You're still the most important girl in their lives. They depend on you.
Then, one day, one leaves. You've done your job. No more activities to juggle. No more meals to prepare. No more shopping for clothes. No more worrying about how their hair looks or if they washed behind their ears. Now, there's a new girl in their life whose opinion is the only one that matters. They aren't "yours," anymore. And every argument and harsh word you ever spoke to them haunts you. Did I do enough? I should have done differently. I should have made more happy memories while I could. It's too late. You know it's the natural progression of life. You know there will be new happiness in their adult accomplishments. Still, it hurts, and you mourn for the chance to go back and do things over.
Now, my days are spent alone. It's too late to become that doctor now. I feel like I should find a job, but I still have one teenager at home, and I'm not about to miss any of his activities. I guess I'll try to be a secretary or something like that with a daytime schedule. The only problem is I'm forty years old and have no recent work experience of any kind. I try for a couple of positions, thinking I can convince them that I'm still smart enough to do the job. It doesn't work. So, now what? Now what? That is the question of my life. When facing a crisis like this, every past and present failure rushes to the forefront of your mind. You question every choice you've ever made. It's a lonely place to be, alone with your thoughts.
Friday, August 7, 2015
I hate politics, but...
Here's a confession. I've never really cared about politics. I've been living in denial of the fact that I'm an adult and should care about the people chosen to lead our country and make decisions for us. This particular season in politics has piqued my interest, though. Donald Trump. Need I say more? Well, I'm going to say more, anyway.
When I first heard that "The Donald" was running for president, I am quite certain that I rolled my eyes. I've never been a fan. I've always thought he was a narcissistic blow hard. I thought he must be out of his mind to even suggest that the American public would give him a moment's consideration as a serious contender. Then, he started talking. Lots and lots of talking. And, while I may not have agreed with everything he had to say, I liked the way he said it.
Have you ever heard the saying, "Hurt me with the truth, but NEVER comfort me with a lie?" I think that's what is going on with Mr. Trump. People are so sick and tired of politicians that tip-toe around speaking their true feelings for fear of offending someone. We would rather know what kind of snake we're handling than to be surprised when we get bitten later. I, for one, respect a person who speaks their mind unapologetically. At least, then, I can make an informed decision as to whether I want to support you or not. So, yes. I've gained a new respect for Donald Trump.
I find it particularly entertaining to watch the liberal media having to admit that Donald Trump's bid for the candidacy is not just a joke. Every "journalist" I've seen talking about him on TV talks with clear disdain for the man. He has been endlessly mocked by not only comedians but also "real" newscasters. They've had to actually acknowledge that there is a considerable percentage of the American people that support him, despite his brash attitude. I happen to enjoy seeing the left-wing biased pundits knocked off of their high horses, even if just for a moment. You see, I long for the days when the news media simply delivered the news. I wish I could turn on the TV and see a journalist talk about the issues facing our country without feeling the undercurrent of an agenda being pushed onto the public. Anyone who is willing to stand up to their mind games and call them out publicly garners a bit more respect from me.
As I step down from today's soapbox, I just want to say that I'm not waving any banners from the Donald Trump corner just yet. I do, however, give the man credit for telling it like it is without fear of retribution. Now, if we could only convince the rest of the candidates to be so transparent, we might have a political race worth watching.
When I first heard that "The Donald" was running for president, I am quite certain that I rolled my eyes. I've never been a fan. I've always thought he was a narcissistic blow hard. I thought he must be out of his mind to even suggest that the American public would give him a moment's consideration as a serious contender. Then, he started talking. Lots and lots of talking. And, while I may not have agreed with everything he had to say, I liked the way he said it.
Have you ever heard the saying, "Hurt me with the truth, but NEVER comfort me with a lie?" I think that's what is going on with Mr. Trump. People are so sick and tired of politicians that tip-toe around speaking their true feelings for fear of offending someone. We would rather know what kind of snake we're handling than to be surprised when we get bitten later. I, for one, respect a person who speaks their mind unapologetically. At least, then, I can make an informed decision as to whether I want to support you or not. So, yes. I've gained a new respect for Donald Trump.
I find it particularly entertaining to watch the liberal media having to admit that Donald Trump's bid for the candidacy is not just a joke. Every "journalist" I've seen talking about him on TV talks with clear disdain for the man. He has been endlessly mocked by not only comedians but also "real" newscasters. They've had to actually acknowledge that there is a considerable percentage of the American people that support him, despite his brash attitude. I happen to enjoy seeing the left-wing biased pundits knocked off of their high horses, even if just for a moment. You see, I long for the days when the news media simply delivered the news. I wish I could turn on the TV and see a journalist talk about the issues facing our country without feeling the undercurrent of an agenda being pushed onto the public. Anyone who is willing to stand up to their mind games and call them out publicly garners a bit more respect from me.
As I step down from today's soapbox, I just want to say that I'm not waving any banners from the Donald Trump corner just yet. I do, however, give the man credit for telling it like it is without fear of retribution. Now, if we could only convince the rest of the candidates to be so transparent, we might have a political race worth watching.
Thursday, July 23, 2015
Comparisons
"Comparison is the thief of joy." That's one of my favorite quotes. It's so true. You can be feeling on top of the world, but there will always be someone who does better than you, who looks better than you, who feels better about themselves than you. Next thing you know, there goes your joy! This is just one good reason to not concern yourself too much with what others are doing. You're only seeing the surface, anyway. They probably have issues, too.
The one exception to this comparison theory is the TV show "Hoarders." I am currently watching episode after episode of the show, and it makes me happy. These people really make me feel good about my housekeeping skills. I feel bad for them, most of them, anyway. Some of them are just so hateful. I do not have issues like theirs, though.
To be honest, I've not always been a good housekeeper. In recent years, I have gotten a handle on it. I no longer live in fear of someone showing up unexpectedly. My house is relatively presentable all of the time now, just don't look in my bedroom or bathroom. Earlier, I was feeling bad about the clean laundry that is folded and stacked in my room. I need to put it all away. Then, I turned on "Hoarders," and ta-da! I don't feel so bad, anymore! Comparison: the source of joy. It's all perspective.
The one exception to this comparison theory is the TV show "Hoarders." I am currently watching episode after episode of the show, and it makes me happy. These people really make me feel good about my housekeeping skills. I feel bad for them, most of them, anyway. Some of them are just so hateful. I do not have issues like theirs, though.
To be honest, I've not always been a good housekeeper. In recent years, I have gotten a handle on it. I no longer live in fear of someone showing up unexpectedly. My house is relatively presentable all of the time now, just don't look in my bedroom or bathroom. Earlier, I was feeling bad about the clean laundry that is folded and stacked in my room. I need to put it all away. Then, I turned on "Hoarders," and ta-da! I don't feel so bad, anymore! Comparison: the source of joy. It's all perspective.
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