THAT day

I will never forget that day.

Not the day he died. That day I remember, but it is broken into sharp fragments and bits of memory by shock and pain. Shards I can pick up and examine, but like pieces of a puzzle, no overall meaning or emotion connected to them, really.

The day I am referring to is the day that came shortly after the first anniversary of his passing. As Emily Belle Freeman put it, "Some days are harder than others. And perhaps you only know how hard the one year mark is if you've lived through one. There's something permanent about the not coming back that settles in just now."

Permanent. No more the first Thanksgiving, or the first Christmas, or the first 4th of July, his favorite holiday. In a matter of a single day, it went from 'the first' to 'for the rest of my life.'

Let me back up just a bit. During the first year after my son's passing, I cried every Sunday at church, without fail, during the sacrament hymn. These weren't simply tears of missing, but also tears of gratitude. The Atonement of Jesus Christ and what He made possible - that the dead would live again - became immediately and deeply relevant to me on a level I had never experienced before. I became used to these tears and even welcomed them.

Then the first Sunday after July 27th, 2017, the sacrament song began, and the tears started as usual. Only this time, they didn't stop at the end of the song, or even at the end of the passing of the Sacrament. I thought, "What is going on with me?" I felt a tidal wave of grief pick me up and carry me far out to sea. I couldn't stop. My eyes became red, my tissue shredded in my hand, and it was all I could do to hide my crying from those around me. Who sobs uncontrollably for an entire hour in church?

Somehow I made it through the meeting, yet even after a quick escape from the chapel and arriving home, the sorrowing continued. I texted my dear neighbor - a woman who personally knew my same grief - and said, "I don't need you to come over. I just need to understand what is going on. Is this normal?" She answered with her usual sensitivity, and helped get me through that afternoon.

And then that evening, it dawned on me. So often the body remembers things that the mind would rather forget. My body knew on a cellular level that the passing of this date meant something new for me. More mortal terrain to be traversed. More of my grief journey.

No more firsts, but for the rest of my life.

I wish I could say after four years, that I don't still cry here and there. That all the holidays and family get togethers are easier. They're not necessarily what they were, they are just ... different. And that's as it should be. Why would I expect my life to feel the same when my child feels gone?

But there is also hope. And the hope grows and increases every year, maybe because of the cleansing tears, and because I'm not counting firsts anymore. Maybe because we let ourselves feel the missing. Even Jesus wept.

"I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged ... how we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again."

It's all so amazing, this life.

I'm doing my best to live life, relying upon the time when we will see each other again. And that is faith. I'm grateful for those who have carried us through and continue to remember. It's amazing the difference it makes. And that is love.

With each year we are here and fulfill whatever mission we have, we are all getting a little closer to home.

This IS Happening

What a year. And what a time we live in. I started this blog to talk about codependence (my own), and then my oldest son gave me a book called "List Yourself" and I thought that a good frame of reference. But I can be honest - sometimes I talk about deep and personal things here, sometimes I use the list book, and sometimes I just want to write. This post is in between all 3. And how ironic I can hear my husband in the background saying to his aunt, 'We'll all leave this earth with nothing,' which makes this post all the more relevant.

You see, I have spent the last hour downstairs going through a box. A box of things my mother saved. A lot of it is stuff that meant something to HER - cards from my long-divorced step-dad, ship launching announcements they would go to together (my dad and step-dad were both Navy), balls they attended at Mardi Gras in New Orleans. I remember the lavish costumes they wore. I remember going to New Orleans and watching the parades. I was too young then to be afraid of the crowds, or of strangers. So when a young man offered to lift me on his shoulders so I could see, I was grateful. I'm also sure my parents were nearby. I remember seeing people on the balcones looking down, and I remember being entranced by the romance of those architecturally pleasing balcones.

I didn't save the cards or the announcements. You see, I have a box I keep in my closet. It contains cards from my friends and children. It is full of MY memories. I feel I need to put a note in the top of it saying, 'Feel free to discard everything in here when I die.' It's not like I'm John Adams's wife.

But I do feel I want to mark the memories that have washed over me today, or the things I have learned. For example, I already knew one relative came from a difficult home life, but I came across one letter that shared details of that, and reading that made me have even more compassion for that person. I think it's true most of us are all wounded individuals in one way or another. For me, we can choose to heal from those wounds, or not.

I found another page where my mother was working with someone - maybe a counselor? - and she wrote down the things she wanted to let go of. That I saved. That I will scan. There's power in that piece of paper. There is a greater knowing of her. There are lessons to be learned. Am I stuck in the patterns she wished to be free from? A good question to consider.

Then, I came to items in the box that were about me. Old report cards, little notes from friends in jr. high and high school. Several wishing me luck as I tried out for officer of our drill team. (I didn't make it.) But the notes were super fun to read, and I was reminded of how blessed I have been to always have good friends. Then a choral evaluation. I remember that day clearly. The song I greatly enjoyed singing. That was the year before I became afraid to sing. The year I still sang soprano and everything was fun and I didn't think too much about my tone or what needed changing. It was interesting to read the comments from the judge that day. I could apply those comments to my singing today! As soon as Covid is over, I want to take voice lessons again. I only have so long before my voice will age and begin to crack a bit.

Anyway, I understand my mother saving things. And I understand her saving my things, even after I had moved and started my own family and now my kids are grown. My sons are more minimalist. DS#2 has everything he owns in his bedroom closet downstairs. DS#3 has one box downstairs, and the rest at his apartment. DS#1 left his things very neatly organized when he passed. (I remember how he could not understand how I could forget things or not take care of things on time.) But DD - I have at least 6 boxes of her things out in my garage, including a box of dolls! (I also have a box somewhere of my dolls.)

So, today has been a different part of my Covid life today. I miss going to the gym, but ours is full, and I refuse to go when it is so full. I only go out mainly to grocery shop. I try to work out at home, but our air quality is not good right now so no walking out of doors. I really hate winters here. I hope next year I am better prepared to travel to someplace warm. That is part of why I am working with decluttering. Time to get this stuff off my plate!!!

Unexpected

Well, it is Christmas Eve, 2020.

To say it's been quite a year for the world is an understatement. Loads of feelings.

But what I did not expect to feel, this Christmas Eve of all Christmas Eves, is peace. I suppose it's a forced peace, in a way. With Covid and it's accompanying quarantines, there has not been the usual mad dash of parties, get togethers, concert-going, or .... well, anything. Lots to enjoy online, and I realize I'm one of the fortunate few who does well with online intereactions.

But it's peace, nonetheless. And the biggest peace has to do with our oldest son. Going through letting go of what happened to him all over again earlier in the year was not pleasant. I was anything but peaceful.

I was angry. I was frustrated. I wanted justice. (I still do, on occasion.) I wanted our boy back.

I realized I was letting what happened to him destroy me. And I would not give --- that victory.

So I let go. And quarantined.

Thanksgiving came. Only grandma was able to be with us, and between the two of us, we cooked up a storm. Which allowed me to take leftovers to my youngest. My youngest, who has such concern for his father that we can only see him outside, masks on, physically distanced six feet. I'll take it, even when it's below 30 degrees outside.

And now, it's Christmas Eve. Yes, I've thought of my oldest much. But today, while out running errands, I decided to be cheerful. Not in a forced way, but in a 'this is what the world needs' way. And everyone was being cheerful. And helpful. And nice.

Chris would like that.

So on this quiet Christmas Eve, I'll think on that sweet little baby born to save us all. Born to comfort, and heal, and gather. Bornt to redeem. My son is fine. I will, be, too.

I Love ...

Wow. The past six weeks have been quite a test for the world. Covid-19 has turned the world on it's edge, and we are still in the middle of it. As with most of history, these things have happened in the past, and they will happen in the future, but this is the first pandemic of this proportion in my lifetime.

The first two weeks were surreal, and it was easy to be full of positivity that we could get through this all together. (Even with experiencing my first ever earthquake in Utah during that first week, too.)

Hubs stocked up on necessities and some food storage, in case we contracted the virus and couldn't get out for a few weeks. Now, we are only going out for groceries and medical needs. And with the weather changing, the occasional walks.

Darling son has been hiking several times a week. And he has started our backyard garden. Thank goodness for spring.

I won't lie - the past two weeks have been hard. I've felt lower than normal for various reasons. Cover-19 is like putting a lid on a pressure cooker, and everything just wants to bubble to the surface. Overwhelming, to say the least.

There's been a lot of good going on, tho. I hope when people reflect back on this time, they can remember those good things. Sometimes the good things feel far away. Then one day you wake up and realize life is going on and that dwelling on the negative has never felt good, so let's get back to as normal a life as possible in these circumstances, right?

Well, this was going to be a post about what I love. Maybe I overshot the mark. So I'll end by saying goodnight, stay safe, and I love s'more flavored pop tarts.

Her Life Will Never Be the Same

Every morning, as much a habit as anything I do, I open FaceBook. It's a nice way to wake up, catching up with the world that way. This morning, I read the unexpected message: "Just thought I would let you know about a tragedy in our family this week ... I felt like you should know since you have been thru this before and might be able to offer words of hope to them at this time." And within those three dots were included the words 'son' and 'suicide.'

My heart immediately broke for this dear family, but especially for the mother. I had been close to her in past times. Distance is the only reason we really didn't see each other much. But I still considered her like a sister. And now ... her son was gone from her. In an instant.

Yes, when she is ready, I will know the words of hope to offer. I have said them to myself over a hundred times. They have been said to me. And I believe those words to be truth.

But first, there will be shock. Only, it doesn't feel like any other shock I've known. It comes as an uninvited but necessary guest. This strange companion never leaves. He's there first thing in the morning, when she moves from sleep to waking, and she doesn't even need to remember, to remember, to remember ... she knows. Her child's passing became as much a part of her as breathing, in the instant she was told.

Shock gets her through that first week, the first month, the first years. The necessary preparations, the visits, the memorial service itself. She will speak to those around her, perhaps even offer comfort herself, and somewhere in the back of her mind she may wonder, how is she even standing in this moment when her entire world has been turned on it's head?

As she moves through life, there will be Before, and After. Always. This is her way of reckoning time for the rest of her life. A perfect dissection.

Shock will stay with her. He'll do what he came to help her through. (As Lin-Manuel Miranda has so eloquently stated, 'the unimagineable.') And there will be tears. That goes without saying. So many tears, more than she ever knew she had in her. How does one measure the tears that will come unbidden for the rest of her life? Yes, the waves will come crashing with less frequency as time passes, but for the first year, or even two or three, she will cry, and cry, and cry ... because, as the Facebook quote says, grief is love with nowhere to go. Her love knows no bounds, so why should her tears?

She may have a spot she goes to. Sitting on the bedroom floor, leaning against the wall, crying into the room where no one else is. She needs it to be this way. She needs this space. She will cry, and cry, and cry .... again, and again. And her love will ask the air, "Why him? Why my sweet little boy who once had laughing eyes?" The room won't answer, but it's always there when she needs.

Not that that spot is the only place she'll cry. But it's the place where she will go when the big cries come. When her heart needs room to break, again and again.

And along the way, the words of hope from others will co-exist with the love, and the missing, and the tears, and the grief. They will be her lifeline. They will be the thin threads of the rope she clings to. (Don't even begin to call this a new normal. Normal? What is normal about your child being so broken he can't go on?)

People will tell her they feel him near. She'll believe them and disbelieve them at the same time. She'll hope in her heart that he is being cared for, and loved, and looked after. That he is surrounded by loved ones who have gone before. That he doesn't have to carry the enormous burdens he carried in life. It was always so easy to believe this about others who passed, why should it be any different with her child? But it is. She longs so much to hear his voice again, to see his laughing eyes, to KNOW he is okay.

And then, perhaps sooner, perhaps later, perhaps in the midst of it all, who can say - she'll feel what others have felt. She'll sense he is near. He may even say words to her. In her heart, in her mind. He'll speak to her. She prays that it is really his words coming to her. She wants to believe. The words sound like him. He will tell her how amazing it all is. That he loves her. That he is okay. That she needs to be her amazing self.

Peace may come quickly or slowly. But it is quite possible for grief and peace to co-exist. Hasn't it always been this way?

Yes, I'll offer her words of hope and truth. Because I have lived them. Because someone offered them to me. And someday, she'll offer the words to other women around her. We'll all hold hands through the 'after' until that glorious day we embrace our dear children again.

Myself

Yesterday, I showed darling son's girlfriend my blog. She graciously read my entry, 'Before,' laughing at what she termed was 'just the right amount' of humor. No wonder I like her!

Darling son came back into the room and asked what we were doing. Upon answering, he said, "I didn't know you had a blog."

Sigh. The life of a mother.

What does it take before our children see us as complete human beings beyond the title of parent? I believe I may be partly at fault in this.

I believe it's time for a few things to change around here. And as with all good change, it has to start with me.

Not long now

It's all too close. His birthday, and then his passing date. Maybe I should simply call it his passage date. Maybe that would help. I have a feeling it might not.

As someone told me, the tears are all about the love. We wouldn't want the tears gone. But I sure would like him here. I'd give anything to see him, if only for a short time.

I'll write more later. For now, there is this. From several years ago, when I wouldn't necessarily have called life simple, but certainly my life seemed simpler in some respects. How I miss him. For all of those we miss so dearly.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UxAaGp5SHoQ&t=13s

December Night

My dearest son.

Music. It makes the house feel like home. E noodles around on his trumpet. Such talent - he learns by watching, and I'm amazed at all the things I know are inside of him. Like you, he does things his own way. It's relaxing to hear him learning new songs as I hook up the electronic piano. Yes, the one I barely know how to operate beyond playing the keyboard. I need to have M sit down with me and teach me all that this contraption is capable of. That would be a fun thing to do this next year, along with brushing up on my French.

The downstairs family room is a mess. Chords everywhere, evidence of Dad's work and your brothers' gaming. We'll figure out where the extra TV will go.

Remember when you and E started sharing a bedroom, and we were so upset with each other because you tried to organize it differently than I thought it should be? I felt E needed more space. What's funny is E didn't care. He rarely does. He has his priorities in the right place when it comes to people being more important than things.

I wish you could meet E's dog. Oh, wait ... you probably have! Isn't he something? E is such a good daddy to that dog. So much more consistent as a parent than I ever was. So caring and loyal. I like to watch him with Oz.


We miss you. Thanks for letting me know you are near. I'm trying to open my heart to your hellos. I'm trying to believe that all those little coincidences aren't coincidences. Thank you for being brave. Thank you for being our angel.

He begins to feel away from me.

I've known this feeling before. I don't like it. Why is it happening so quickly this time? Is grief so familiar to me now that I don't even need much time to process? Or am I in denial?

His hands. I remember thickish .... like his feet. Hobbit feet, we called them. He could grow hobbit hair, as well. Not surprising that Tolkien was one of his favorite authors.

I vaguely remember the physical space of him as he came through the back sliding door. Usually grinning, and bearing gifts. Thoughtful, sweet gifts from his place of work, Costco. He loved seeing the new things that came into the store. He loved owning and giving the things that came into the store!

My exercise shoes are because of him. My heated blanket in winter. Our kitchen knives.

His first gifts? Nausea and stretch marks. The nausea faded with time. The stretch marks didn't.

I now touch my scarred skin reverently.

Please, help me remember. His hands, his legs, his arms. His smell. His hugs. His laughter.

(Oh, that boy loved cologne. Remember that day at Macy's? We went to pick out earrings for your girlfriend, but we couldn't help stopping at the perfume counter.)

I remember the snarky remark said with a smirk. But also, the serious softness of his eyes that took in so much. That tried to understand. That in the end ... left us lost for awhile.

I open the mp4 file on my desktop. The video begins. And I try to remember.

I will never be the same ...

Wednesday morning, July 27th, we learned that we had lost our oldest son to suicide.

The pain is unreal. The myriad thoughts and emotions swirl in my head as I examine the kaleidoscope that was his life. So many patterns, colors, shapes shifting across a landscape of 30 years. His was an amazing spirit.

There is longing ... to see him - his bright, playful eyes, which were also the windows to a heart more sensitive, stronger, and bigger than I ever realized - and to sense again the physical space of him. His pillow sits on our kitchen bench. I sometimes pick it up as I pass by and breathe in the lasting traces of his scent.

And as I think on the future, I feel - almost hear - his saying, "It's okay, Mom. Don't be afraid. Be your crazy, talented self. Don't wait. Use your gifts, they are already there. Let the world be enriched by you. It will be all alright. It will be amazing."

Well, while we are on a roll … a different way to view the New Year

Today, a guest post. From a man I tremendously admire. Everything he writes is spot on. (Did I mention I admire him tremendously?)

In my faith - I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints - we partake of the sacrament in remembrance of our Savior every week. I know many Christian faiths have this practice. But no matter what faith you ascribe to, the principle of reflection and service can be put in place by anyone.

I was heartened to find this article because I am not the only one receiving such ideas during the sacrament. (I thought it was Heavenly Father's way of communicating with my busy brain - during the Sacrament He knows I am a more or less captive audience.) I know these ideas are gifts from God, and I'm so grateful to add to that understanding with the writing here.

Blessings to all of us as we strive to make the world a better place.

http://ldsmag.com/the-failure-of-new-years-resolutions-and-something-better/#.VKblOzeMVSA.facebook


(I'm not sure why the link is posting this way … cut and paste, folks?)

Before

Before.

When the roots were new.

When the roots were new, beginning to anchor themselves in the ground, making a foundation for growth.

Before. Before branches and leaves grew thick and wild, catching whatever wind came by, swaying and twisting with breezes, gusts, storms. When the beginnings of existence were just life.

Now the tree is overgrown, branches and leaves creating density.

Pruning is what is needed.

A friend and I were recently discussing New Year's Resolutions. I told her that I hated making resolutions as I associated resolutions with - something that is broken, not kept. She then related to me that the Latin root of resolve means to let go. Naturally, I looked that notion up before committing it to this blog post. Because heaven forbid I should get something so important wrong. A lot riding on that word.

"I find it very interesting that the Latin root for resolution, resolve, and solve is solvere, which means to loosen or let go. How odd … This suggests to me that in order to keep New Year’s resolutions—determined solutions to perceived problems—then perhaps the trick is to let go" Steve Lee
http://wilmingtonfavs.com/2013/01/02/perhaps-the-trick-is-to-let-go/#sthash.Sx3VTDUr.dpuf.

Perceived problems. Hmmm … still this notion of something being broken. Life - and perhaps myself - as something needing to be fixed. But these are just words. Like the word resolution itself, they will have whatever meaning I attach to them. Getting to the root of the word allowed for new meaning. Space. I could breathe with this.

So, the question arises: What do I wish to let go of in this New Year? This month? This week? Today.

One item is fear. I wish to let go of feeling afraid. Unafraid = Feeling confident. Trusting myself. Being myself.

Going after things that matter with a heart full of faith. Being cognizant of good, better, best. Let's go for better and best, shall we?

What am I afraid of, you may ask? It doesn't matter. Enough to know "it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good."

"Who doesn’t love the idea of starting fresh and looking forward? Resolutions are an opportunity to look ahead and let go of the past. The Latin root for resolution is resolvere, meaning to loosen, release and dissolve. Often there’s something we need to dissolve in order for something new to emerge … We can achieve our resolutions and goals by being connected to our intentions rather than driven by insecurities. A common example is the New Year’s resolution to lose weight. Your stated goal may be “lose 10 pounds.” Your intention could be to “feel more connected to my body.” Notice how the intention comes from a place of kindness rather than a place that may be based in needing approval or validation from something outside of yourself." Rachel Allyn

Kindness. I like that. But what if I don't wish to let go of parts of my past? What if I wish to return to my roots? To return to before.

Our first home had a lovely rose bush out back, against an east facing side wall. Ideal location for growth, if given enough water and nutrients. The bush produced large, multicolored blooms, perfect for cutting. So very beautiful, and free for the taking.

I am not a gardener by any stretch of the imagination. I can handle a hose, and that is about it. And it's all I care to do. But my dear rose bush required pruning. So, I got out our gardening book, filled with lovely photos and practical advice. (If I don't know something these days, I google, instead of looking up the answer in books. I am VERY good at googling. And darn proud of it. I can find you the answer to almost any question you might pose.)

I discovered that in order to prune my bush, I would need to cut the branches. Like, almost all of them. The goal was to get down to the original canes that grew flush with the base of the bush. Doing this allows for bigger blooms come the following spring.

OH, THE FEAR. I worried that pruning the roses would hurt them. How could my rose bush ever come back in all it's glory, with so much cut away? I was terrified I would make a mistake and ruin the bush for good. What to do? I was the only one who would be taking care of that bush. It was up to me. After careful study of the diagrams in our book, I tentatively picked up my tools and began hacking away.

Amazed. Even with all that cutting, it came back - and then some. The blooms were as large and beautiful as ever. New branches grew, with new buds. The rose bush flourished, providing flowers from May to October. I learned how to cut at just the right spot to allow for new growth. Pruning and cutting was an ongoing process, but I learned to see the form of the branches and where space was needed between them. I learned what to cut. I learned what to let go.

To let before guide it's growth.

Before.

Before fear, perfectionism, other voices, worry, too much responsibility, too much busyness, too many branches and leaves. When before existed in excitement, dreams, trust, possibilities, laughter. And an absolute belief - faith - in all of it.

Unafraid.

Stages

I walk into the master bedroom of our new home and turn on the dresser lamp. The light casts a soft, comforting glow. I then close the blinds. I well know the effect the lamp light will have to the outside from the clerestory windows. I have set the stage, as it were, not only for any one passing by, but also for myself. I will leave the room for now, but there is some comfort in knowing it is ready for my return when bed time approaches. I'm just funny that way.

If any one were to see my pinterest boards, they would see the interplay of stillness and motion that captivate my mind and my senses. The time for motion this day is over; stillness reigns.

I think of the lake just a few blocks away. I can't see it at night, but I know it is there. I know of the hundred geese or more which land on the lake in the fall. One can hear their honking (to each other?) as they fly above in formation; they then alight onto the water with a small splash and settling of wings.

I know of the iron and wood bridges one can cross for a view. Or one can take the walkways under the bridges, water to one side, curved stonework on the other. For a moment I am transported, imagining the bridge walkways in Paris to be somewhat like this. Only in Paris one might be surrounded by soft city lights; here one is surrounded by lavender and various indigenous plants. (I never can remember their names. Memory often fails me these days.)

I like to think of the cool, dark pathways. I wish I could walk them more often.

Setting the stage of living: waking, usually falling back asleep for a bit, breakfast ad unloading the dishwasher, perhaps starting a load of laundry. Resting, watching a bit of TV (Royal Pains on Netflix at the moment), FB for variety and conversation. Perhaps a walk barefoot along the grass near the lake, then digging my toes into the sand along our little beach. Indian summer allows for such a pleasure at this time of year. But this short activity must be done towards the middle of the day.

Later, exercise to keep my EDS at bay for as long as possible. Usually a phone call from darling daughter. A light dinner.

TV with darling husband, or, if is not too late, a walk around the lake. My eventual goal is to make it all the way around.

Sunset. One day melds into another.

Maybe I am just getting older, and that is fine by me. I'll live life as it comes, no more running to and fro as I used to. I'll practice listening. I'll practice writing. I'll practice feeling. I'll practice loving. Some nights, and if my wrist strain ever heals - darn EDS - I'll practice dancing.

Everything will work out. The bedroom light continues casting it's spell.

As if!

"We do not heal the past by living there; we heal the past by living fully in the present." Marianne Williamson

"There are simply two days in the year that nothing can be done. One is called yesterday and the other is called tomorrow, so today is the right day to love, believe, do and mostly live." Dalai Lama (supposedly)

"The impeded stream is the one that sings." Wendell Berry

Okay, it's another quote day. But aren't these good ones? One would answer that depending on where a person is in life, I suppose. Well, I am where they are good for me.

I realized something this past week. I have been grieving my illness. Not 24/7, but close to it. I forgot about it for awhile in Aruba. No physical demands there, good weather, so the body and mind were happy to cooperate and just let me feel better. Not completely myself, but just ... better.

But much of the time, even if not externally, I wear my illness like a heavy cloak, and it can be smothering. I know it's there. I resent it. I wish things were different. I see the gifts that have come to me from having it, but I also see my limitations and how my life has changed as a result of it. And I wish things were different.

Yet, "the impeded stream is the one that sings."

So, what is my song? Well, what if, as Jack Canfield says, I acted 'as if?' As if I were okay with having limitations? As if I were okay with having the illness? As if I could still do what I wanted - within reason - finding ways, asking for help, refusing to play the victim or the martyr? What if I allowed myself to enjoy life despite my illness?

What if I just let go and refused to put on that internal cloak of sadness? What if I lived fully in the present, letting go of what used to be so the present me can sing?

What if I made today, and every day, the right day to love and live? What would that look and feel like?

To remember my heart and it's desires.

Grieving. Playing the martyr or victim. All part of codependence. Am I codependent with this disease? Possibly. Can I change that? Absolutely.

I close with one more quote, this one from Danielle La Porte. "The journey has to feel the way you want the destination to feel." Each day. Feeling, being, and then some doing. Grief, you have served a valuable purpose. Thank you for your lessons.

Places

I pour the bath water and add a few drops of lavender oil. I feel the sweet warmth of this routine follow me, even though I am moving as I undress and put my clothes away. My closet is attached to and open to the bathroom. My eyes graze over my mainly hanged clothes as I prepare in my mind what I will wear tomorrow. No need to lay it out, I see all the pieces within easy reach.

This house surprises me. Several years ago, we stayed at the Princeville Hotel on the norther shore of Kauai. The hotel is famous for their room spray, and of course, we bought several bottles. But upon returning to our former home, I realize the room spray feels out of place there. So one of the pretty bottles goes on my dresser as decor, the other gets tucked away in the bathroom. Fast forward several years later to our new home.

Again, I go to put the bottle on my dresser as decor. But the thought of trying a spritz somehow emerges, I don't remember how or why, and I spray the entry way. The odor feels perfectly at home there. How odd! I am intrigued by this. I thought I didn't care for the scent. But I love it here. We don't have the yard views our old home had, but we do have wonderful light.

It doesn't take long for the lightly scented lavender bath to soothe and warm my body.

Someone told me recently, "What a great opportunity to move and sort of reinvent yourself. No taking or need to talk about any of the old baggage, you get to be the present you." I reflect on this statement and realize, "But I like myself as I am." And I realize, I am the present me, baggage and all. And it's all okay with me. At least, most of the time.

But I think I know what she was trying to convey. We don't have to go to a new place to let go of things that need to be let go, but sometimes, it certainly does help.

"I love the feeling of being anonymous in a city I've never been before."

I've felt this. Even recently. Maybe it was Aruba. Aruba changed me. Laugh all you want, but a person can get in touch with themselves on the Jolly Pirate Snorkel Tour, AND accomplish this without using the open bar. I'm sure the rope swing and the dancing didn't hurt. I put it down to being on a sailboat, wind in my hair, clear Carribean water all around me, swathed in crystal sky, crystal water and crystal sand along the coastline. I feel prisms of light bathing me, carried by light, water and wind.

My daughter said to me once upon my return from Hawaii, "Mother, you live in the wrong state." A very true statement. I spray the room spray nearly every morning and sometimes in the evening. I wonder what adventures await.

Food, glorious Food!

About a year and a half ago, I lost 15 pounds. Didn't mean to, I was just trying to eat better after the health crash, so my body would have one less thing to fight. I've had several people ask me how I did it, and how I maintain my weight.

The book I based and continue to base my diet on is Eat to Live. Notice I used the word 'base.' I like this meal plan for several reasons, but I do tweak it. What I like about it:

It's simple. No measuring, don't have to worry about 5 snacks a day, or eating every 2-3 hours. Not my style. Eat three meals a day, as much of you want of most foods, because the foods are so good for you.

Nutritionally, it makes a lot of sense to me. The text was written with an eye towards disease prevention and regression. Nothing outrageous or outlandish about the program, one doesn't even need to take a boatload of supplements.

I am LDS (Mormon) and we have been given health code guidelines. This is the first eating plan that falls pretty much in line with those guidelines. My guess is no matter what religion, one can tweak it for their guidelines as well.

How I tweak: I do eat meat/dairy occasionally. I have dessert every so often, now that I am at my goal weight. One can have one big dessert say every 2-4 weeks, or one could have a small treat every couple of days. (Chocolate truffles anyone?)

My husband has been on this basic plan for several months now and has lost 20 pounds. Without much extra exercise.

So, what do I eat? This post is to answer that question. I highly rec the book to anyone, it is mostly research which can be quite motivating, and then you get to the guidelines.

So, here goes! Breakfast, which I rotate according to my mood:
1. Oatmeal (from whole oats, not processed) cooked with some water in the microwave. My husband likes his cooked the old fashioned way on the stove. And yes, he cooks his own as the microwave doesn't seem good enough for him, lol. Told you I like things simple. To the oatmeal I add Costco frozen berries (strawberry/blueberry/raspberry blend, but a cup of whatever fruit you have on hand will work, too), a small handful of walnuts (great for Omega 3s), and a titch of vegan butter or brown sugar if I am in the mood. We are just talking a titch!

2. Berry smoothie and nut butter: In a decent blender, mix 1/2 c. rice or soy or almond milk, 1/2 c. water, 3/4 c. frozen berries, and a handful of fresh or frozen greens. You can add a banana or an ounce of fruit juice or a T of fruit juice concentrate if you want added sweetness. Blueberry pomegranate juice is really good, and good for you. The nut butter? I love almond butter, and I eat it (2 tsp) right off the spoon. Decadence! My husband likes his spread on sprouted grain bread. We only eat sprouted or sourdough bread these days. It's delicious and filling and gluten sensitivities don't seem to be an issue with it. BTW, to freeze greens: We buy ours at Costco or Trader Joe's, buying spinach or kale (baby or regular), or other mixes, say with mustard greens, then throw in gallon ziploc bags and freeze. Wash and dry before freezing as needed. The greens freeze in a dry manner, vs. buying the store type of frozen greens, which are often soggy.

3. Chocolate smoothie: I buy Spirutein chocolate shake mix and add a banana and 2 tsp. nut butter. I may get away from this one, as the spirutein is made with soy protein isolates, and I have read that this is not the best for folks. Better to eat soy in more whole food forms, such as edamame, tofu, soy milk, etc ...

So, tht is all for now Will write more later with my lunch and dinner parts of the plan.

Passing Time

Ghandi said, "Be the change you want to see in the world." A popular phrase, oft quoted, and with good reason.

Today, I read this quote on FaceBook: "Be the gift you bring."

The gift you bring. Hmmm ... what are my gifts? I've been thinking about this a bit lately, as I have been reading Carol Tuttle's Dressing Your Truth: Discover Your Personal Beauty Profile. In my retirement from university, I have used color/fashion/typing as a pleasant distraction when I don't feel like 'doing.'

In this book, Carol talks about 4 distinct energy types, and how we each lead with one main type. Type 1 is the animated, bright woman. Type 2 is the soft, subtle woman. Type 3 is the rich, dynamic woman. And type 4 is the bold, striking woman. (The same categories apply to men, and these energies can be seen nearly from birth.)

She says we will know our type innately. I read the book, and I am not so sure I know my type. Or, I think I am sure, and then find some detail that seems contradictory. The cool thing I like in thinking about these types is that she is adamant we honor the gift(s) we bring according to type, to show that to the world. The symmetry and authenticity of that pleases me!

So I think on my gifts, hard to find beneath the blanket of fibro fog and a very changed lifestyle. I know I can be helpful, sweet and thoughtful. I can be dynamic for awhile. I can be bossy, and sometimes struggle with delivering direct messages if I perceive they will not be received well. I can research stuff on the computer for quite awhile ... I don't like projects, but I love being choir director and being in shows in musical theater. Are those things projects of a kind?

Sitting in my bathrobe the first hour I am up giving advice to women on fashion and color, and sometimes, to my great pleasure, even talking life - Is that a gift?

This morning, an unplanned hour, still in my bathrobe, letting darling son use my computer. I read a few more bits of the Tuttle book as he uploads pics from his latest trip - to Alaska - and we talk sporadically and he shows me pics and the time goes easily, even if I am a tad anxious to get back to my FB friends before showering. (I told you it was a pleasant distraction - oops, I mean diversion?)

Listening to my two sons as they talk easily of said trip and look together at the now uploaded pics. What a priceless gift to be witness to these conversations.

Finally showering, as same darling son has asked me to give him a ride to a couple of places. More talk, a rarity with this son. Alaska may have changed him. Our conversation is changing me ever so slightly. I feel the joy only a mother can feel when a child shares part of his heart. Our conversation is more adult and open than ever.

I think I am a type 4. The type 4 gift is simply our presence, just being there. Seems what I have been doing this morning.

But then there is a part of me that wants to fly, and laugh, and just be more myself. To just be. More. Something has been hiding or unknowingly put aside on a shelf. What is it?

Personality gets squashed, morphed, affected. A comment, a word, an event. It doesn't take much to put us on the path. Expectations of those around us. I remember when I was first married, my husband's brother commented, "S sort of just says what she thinks, doesn't she?" Well, first, I would never say anything if I thought it would intentionally hurt someone. I expect people to know I mean well. I've lived long enough now to know that is not always the case ... I am also learning not to lose any sleep over it. Still, at the time, the comment surprised me. No one had ever commented on it before.

The past few days, I have been letting myself be 'more' in my interactions. Well, more and less. More of myself, less afraid or hesitant to speak up and have fun, and sometimes even saying less, listening more. Just being. And that feels good. What does it mean in terms of my type and how I should dress? I'm not sure.

But I do know that as I re-read this post, there is latent judgment, judgment I am trying to put in it's proper place. The judging that sitting in my bathrobe for an hour is somehow 'wrong.' Judging that fashion is not a truly worthwhile endeavor, even as a hobby.

I sense my decisions shouldn't be about judgment, but should - no could - be based on conscious decisions I make about what I want my days to look and feel like. And that's a bit of what happened this morning. I chose to sit by my son as he uploaded his pics, not knowing beforehand that would lead to conversation, but grateful for it. I chose to give him a ride without much notice and let whatever the rest of the day could look like wait.

These judgments lead me back to my childhood. I loved to dance and sing - wanted to be an actress - but then high school happened and I was smart and everyone said go into engineering, you'll make lots of money. So I started on that path, and switched to the 'safe' degree of history after a year because it gave me options - and I hated engineering. I repeated that pattern as the kids got into school. I had just finished my first community theater show after a 12 year break, had even started commercial work, and what did I do? Woke up one morning and signed up for grad school. Guess some habits die hard.

Where did these messages come from? Maybe from having a dysfunctional type 4 stepfather, who grounded me if I got Bs on my report card. School and good grades were my safety net. Or maybe from having a later single working mother, who did her best, but I knew college would be very difficult to pay for if I didn't have the grades to get scholarships. Oh ye of little faith! Turns out the government ended up paying for every dime as my birth father had been killed in the military.

There were other messages, too. Don't be too happy or excited for your accomplishments, it will sound like bragging. No matter how much you might know, there is nothing like common sense. The last one was my own message to myself, I always envied people with common sense. I felt I had so little, though people seemed to put me in positions of authority.

Play down compliments on your appearance. That one came from several events, not the least of which was inappropriate comments from a teenage boy when I was just a young girl. Thank goodness it never went further than that. My extended family told me he wasn't quite right in the head. Sheesh. (That last bit was really hard to write. I don't say that for sympathy, though goodness knows what women go through growing up can be life altering. Only to use it as a an example in teaching.)

So we're not alone in this, are we ladies? And maybe knowing one's energy type is just another box for me. But I'm not going to apologize for the idea of it, especially about being aware of one's gifts to the world. I'd like to use it as a reference point for growth and added quality to my life.

Morning

Today is off the cuff. Today is unedited. Like so many of my days lately, it seems ...

I awake each morning, in more of a fog than I experienced a year ago. Or maybe it's because I'm in a new bed, sleeping with DH again. His bed is not nearly as comfortable as the double in the other room. Silly bed - we bought it to help sell our old home. It will go in the guest bedroom in the new place.

I lay there, trying to decide whether to slip back into sleep (I'm talented at that, especially anytime after 9 in the morning ...), or to get up. I decide to let my body relax, then make the decision. Hubs is getting ready to go to a work party with my son. He is always so patient with me in the mornings. We both struggle with sleep, he gets it. I am patient with him as well.

I feel my lips relax first. Over the past few days, I've been doing my TMJ exercises again, clucking my tongue whenever I think about it, and it seems to be helping. I can feel the confusion in the muscles as they search to find a new normal.

I consciously seek for the same feeling in my limbs. Just let it all go. Enjoy that relaxed feeling, even for a moment ... feel it, memorize it, it's what you're going for. The body will get there, if you are consistent with your exercises, I tell myself.

I feel I live half a life. Some nights I fall asleep by midnight, other nights, like last night, it's easily 4 or 5 a.m.. Very little rhyme or rhythm. I wonder if my body is only mirroring the way I run my days. Would things change if I showered first, no matter how I was feeling? Turned off all electronics by 9 p.m.? The beginning and end of days can set the tone, I know. But I'm not sure ... I feel my body is more in control of my schedule than I am. Silly body.

I remember my aunt, who also struggles with health issues. She says she has been getting up and vocalizing her blessings upon arising, out loud, even the simplest things. Because some days, even accomplishing simple things is a tremendous blessing. I think of our dear neighbor, who recently lost half his foot in a motorcycle accident. Truly, I have much to be grateful for. Though I've said this before - Suffering is not a contest.

I want to respond to my trials in an honourable way. I want to serve, and some days, like my aunt, I remind myself out loud how the various acts I do can be considered service, both for myself and others.

Could I seek the Lord's will more fully? Yes, the voice whispers. Be ready for the day, however you can. Then see where it takes you. I will lead you, will you follow?

One day at a time.

Why I Married Your Dad

This one is for my kids. On this Valentine's Day, I want to honour my husband. So, guys, here goes.

When your dad and I met, we were attending the same congregation. He asked me out shortly after I was baptized, but I had another date that week-end, so we didn't get to go out. I remember he wanted to take me to the symphony (big surprise there, ay?). And I thought what a novel idea ... I'd never had anyone ask me to the symphony for a date!

Well, having turned him down, he didn't ask me out again for awhile. I started dating another guy, that was part of the reason. He can tell you more about that phase of our 'not dating yet.'

Then one Sunday, while sitting in Sunday school, your dad made a comment during the lesson. It was a really good comment, too! My girlfriend sitting next to me said, "Wow, I could marry a man like that." So, that was when I first noticed your father. And that brings me to the first and most important thing that attracted me to him ... his spirituality and testimony. I appreciate so much that we can share and talk about our spirituality together. And I learn so much from him. When we read the scriptures together, he doesn't always talk about his thoughts much. But when we do have talk time, mostly in the mornings, he often shares with me insights he is gaining from the scriptures. And he knows that God exists, and that He loves us.

The second thing that attracted me to your dad was his gentle nature. I remember sitting in church another Sunday, and he was holding a friend's little two year old girl on his lap. He was so sweet with her, the quiet way he talked to her and played. Very, very gentle. He could also tease when he wanted to, as you guys well know, but it was always good natured.

Our first date together, we went to a show and then out to dinner with a group of friends. Threadgills in Austin! Yummy. Well, I managed to lock myself out of my condo and Bridget was gone for the night, I think. I had no key and nowhere to go. So your dad just rolled with the punches. He was living with like four other guys at the time - all very fun - and we just sat up talking with them. I kept apologizing for having to stay so long, but I don't think your dad really minded ;-). Your dad also got out a couple of scrapbooks he had and that was fun, looking at the pics. I think finally he drove me out to Nana's and I spent the night there. Or maybe Bridget came home? It was like 2 a.m. or so.

Your dad was looked upon as quite the catch in our ward. He always looked so nice, usually coming from work to ward functions. And you all know, he plays the piano beautifully. That was really nice. He used to ask me to turn the music pages for him when he played in church. Oh, that was quite exciting for two young people developing feelings for each other. Which brings me to another thing I admired about your dad.

His dedication to treating me well. He treated me like a lady when it came to kissing and such, and I appreciated that. As you guys know my standards there, I hope you will understand I am talking about MY standards in that area, and not trying to be judgmental of others' standards. But it did mean a lot to me that he was so respectful of me in a moral way during our dating period.

Another reason your dad was considered a catch was probably because he had a steady job - remember, we were in a student ward, lol! He enjoyed his work and the people he worked with. Supporting his family has always been so important to him. I appreciate that he is willing to fulfill that responsibility. It's meant even more to me as I have become ill and can't help out financially the way I used to, but you know what? We are happy and life is so much less stressful than it was. I am looking forward to ways I can spoil him more at home beyond keeping the house neat and fixing meals. It wasn't until I worked full time that I realized how stressful holding down a job can be at times and how much he needs and deserves for home to be more of a haven for him, a place where he can be appreciated and relax.

Finally, I'll throw this in - the girls in our ward thought your dad had the cutest grin. And he does. Have you noticed how one side of his mouth will curl up when he is tickled about something? Darling oldest son, you have this same trait. I noticed it in you when you were just a few days old. So did Grandma.

I just admire your dad so much. I appreciate him more and more with each passing day. I wish I had always shown him the compassionate kindness he so embodies ... but we weathered whatever tough times and I'm so glad to call your dad my Valentine.

A Winter's Night

I knew the storm was coming. Not for the usual reason - my body going into a sure, slow nosedive - though there was a bit of that sensation as well. This time, husband informed me before it arrived, as we discussed the weather in Salt Lake City vs. Laguna, California, where I had just been vacationing with my youngest son.

I had been out running errands and to the gym. I knew as the flakes continued falling that all I would be getting at Costco was gas. Time to head home before the storm, before the traffic, before dinner time.

No one is home as I slide open our back door. My body relaxes. I don't know why I love coming home to an empty house. Maybe it has something to do with so many years of a full house and feeling overly responsible for everything and everyone in it. Don't get me wrong, I loved hearing the sounds of children as mine were growing up. I realize in hindsight that I didn't have to make or take things as seriously as I did. But anyhow, I appreciate this season in my life where the demands have relaxed, at least for now. And I'll take responsibility for that frame of mind, as well ;-).

Hmmm, what to do first. Laundry, that is always good to start with. Love the smell of the fabric softener (lavender), and I take an extra whiff as I pour it into the dispenser. Then, the feel of warm towels fresh from the dryer. I fold them happily as I chat on the phone with darling daughter for a few.

What next? Not sure what time the hubs will be home, so I decide to straighten up a few hot spots. Christmas cards? Removed and recycled. I decide to save a few with pics of my extended family, family I am lucky to see every 3-4 years. I tape these cards to the fridge. I save one from a friend - a new friend, one I have made this year. The handwritten note on the back makes me smile. I decide to use it as a bookmark. Incoming mail? My, when did that basket get so full?! Okay, we'll deal with that a little at a time. No need to knock myself out here. Cleaning house should feel, well ... cleansing! And it does.

Though the Christmas cards are purged, I decide to leave up our Christmas wreath which hangs above our front hall table. It's probably a fire hazard by now, but as it is nowhere near a fireplace or heat source, I decide to spare it's life for a few more days.

I light a candle and fix myself some hot cocoa. The candle is one I received for Christmas, rosemary eucalyptus scent. It reminds me of the pleasant afternoon darling son and I spent just a few weeks ago, picking out a candle for his girlfriend's Christmas present. He liked this same scent, but chose a more expensive one for his gal. Darling husband went back that afternoon, just before Christmas Eve, and bought me this one. It's fragrance dovetails nicely with the lavender.

What else might I do so the home will seem more pleasant before darling husband gets home from work? Dinner for him is taken care of. I notice the piles on the living room coffee table. I'll get to that. First, to continue with the fragrant adventures. I decide to sweep and mop the kitchen floor. Rosemary scented cleaner for that job. It has a bit of bite to it that tickles the senses but doesn't overwhelm. The chore is done in about five minutes or so. I even take the time to scrub a few stubborn spots.

I continue with taking out the recycling. The trash and recycling cans are on the other side of the carport of the rental we currently live in, so I have to go outside and walk up the drive to do this. I slide open the door, and fresh, cold, clean air flushes my cheeks. Drifts of freshly fallen snow, soft and deep, surround our patio. I am surprised and delighted by the sensation of newness that accompanies the falling snowflakes.

Wonder presents itself. It's a pleasant feeling.

Careful of my inherently weak joints, I set down the two bags of paper to be recycled and begin shoveling a very narrow path to the drive. Only eight feet or so long. I try not to injure myself - I rarely know for sure in the moment if I am doing so with tasks like this, so I tend to leave them to someone else - but I am careful and think I am okay.

My, but the snow and air and night sky are beautiful. I can see the city lights below to one side, softly lit, making them look further away than they are. Everything off in the valley seems ... surreal.

Everything close to me is soft and fresh at the same time.

I breathe in as I walk to and from the recycling bin. I marvel at the beauty around me. I carefully make my way back to the house. And I realize that in these simple things, there is great peace. God feels near.