Archive for the ‘home’ Category
Posted in acceptance, Chronic Lyme Disease, co-infections, home, hope, parent, son, spiritual growth, Tucson, unemployment, tagged blessings, faith, family, fatigue, Gratitude, health, inspiration, surrender on April 9, 2017| 1 Comment »
My friend shared with me that his beloved 12 year old pup suddenly passed away. This has been on my mind…
As a result, I am mindful of when I was 4 years old & living with my family in Michigan with my Doberman, Hans. I have vivid remarkable memories of Hans. He was a true Doberman Pinscher, as the breed is known for being, “Always Faithful”. He was a big boy – I remember the age I was standing eye to eye with him & then I grew to be a little taller. My father was a brilliant dog trainer & the original animal lover. And my big brother & I loved playing with Hans in our back yard in the winter snow & the summer grass. Quite often, as I dashed out our back door, my dad would hand me a small paper bag full of trash to toss out in the big metal can in our yard. Each time, Hans would hide behind the trash can & as I approached, suddenly Hans would leap out & he’d jump & hop around me with glee! I laughed till my sides hurt! I fell for this again & again as he continued to lovingly play his own brand of hide ‘n’ seek behind the big trash can. I never got my dad to admit if he taught Hans how to hide & tease me in this way. But what I do know is that when our family suddenly moved into a small apartment the summer of 1962, before I started kindergarten in California, sadly we did not bring Hans with us. I am unable to remember where my beloved play mate’s new home would be that day – but I do know Hans took a piece of my heart with him. I wonder if it is possible to fill that special void of the loss of a fine dog. Perhaps it is due to that lost love that we must freely give to every dog we see in our new life with out our faithful friend at our feet. I do know, that with out the great companionship of Hans, the unexpected fun & laughter, the feeling of being protected – I would never have experienced that great level of unconditional love & compassion – as my heart grew to realize I’d never see Hans again, I experienced a painful sense of loss at much too young of an age. Hans was one of my greatest teachers. Perhaps my first teacher. My memories of Hans are my strongest childhood memories of Michigan when I was only 3 & 4 years old.
My entire life since the summer I turned 5, when ever I see a Doberman, my joy filled heart gravitates towards him & I hear myself softly say,”Haaans! I remember you. Thank you for teaching me about unconditional love. I will love you forever, right back!” For I too, am “Always Faithful”.
I’ve missed writing immensely. I just have not been up to it. It’s not because I’ve been on vacation. It’s not because I’ve been too busy throwing dinner parties or something. And it sure isn’t because I’ve been out riding my bike. The reason I’ve missed writing immensely is, well, because I’ve missed me immensely. My life as I knew it – as well as the woman who lived it – seem to be long gone. Not just with my chronic health challenges. But at this moment, it is my truth, that as soon as my 85 year old father was diagnosed with his cancer, something shifted within myself as well. The shift happened deep with in my soul. And since I said goodbye to him the morning of February 20th, 2014, my heart has been missing – perhaps misplaced in Tucson somewhere.
What an amazing lesson I’ve learn as my life was turned upside down in a heartbeat – the greed of both of my father’s ex-wifes came gushing towards me. Now, I’ve seen cheap. And I sure have seen frugal. But, greed? Never have I seen such a sight. It is quite unattractive in a person. I can see now why greed is included as one of The Seven Deadly Sins.
I’ve had to pull the plug on my dark thoughts quite often. And it sure can come out in my writing. Which is bringing me back to the beginning: I’ve missed writing immensely – it is just too dark to share. And I miss my father so deeply that it’s completely unbearable. How do people do this? I do not know how they have gone before me, but for that I am grateful. Yes, I am grateful for every woman who has shown me that it is possible to continue living with out their father. I am sorry for anyone’s grief who has walked this path before me. For now I understand. For now I know.
It has been too long since I have felt good physically. No one really can actually know the depth of my health challenges – I believe the reason is that it is so personal. And because what I really need in a conversation is hard to come by – don’t give me unsolicited health advise – give me encouragement. And the only person who filled me with encouragement my whole life was my father. He was not perfect. But he never left me. He did not speak negatively of his ex-wife (my mother) when she walked out on us when I was a child – he gave me encouragement as he himself tried to do the things “the mom” is supposed to do. He did not offer much advise unless I asked – but he sure did give me encouragement! Someone like that is hard to come by. I miss the lost art of encouraging words. I miss my father… I am grateful and honored that I got to be his voice. And I am grateful and honored that I’ve been given the opportunity to be in Tucson.
As for my heart, it is just misplaced, I’m sure I left it here somewhere. Soon, I will hear God’s voice directing me towards it. And just maybe, just perhaps, it will be better than it ever was before…
Posted in Dad's throat cancer, home, hope, pain, parent, sober, spiritual growth, tagged alcoholism, blessings, California, faith, family, fatigue, Gratitude, health, inspiration, surrender, Tucson on October 21, 2014| 6 Comments »
Once I thought that I’d live in California forever. But I didn’t.
Once I thought that my dad would live forever. But he was not able to.
I never ever thought that I’d live in Tucson, surrounded by my father’s memories.
But suddenly, I do.
I’ve never known the depth of this grace.
I’ve never known this level of humbling fatherly love.
My gratitude is bottomless. My blessings quiet me.
My love is deep. Therefore my grief is deep.
I am a lucky girl because I am my father’s daughter.
I am just going through the motions day after day, missing my father immensely.
But it is with these motions that I will persevere & find my way & a new life.
Because this is how my father taught me to live.
Keep on pushing until I reach the top of the mountain.
Posted in Dad's throat cancer, Fibromyalgia, home, hope, pain, sober, spiritual growth, tagged alcoholism, community, faith, health, insomnia, Iris, recovery, Tucson on July 8, 2014| Leave a Comment »
For tonight, I will execute one of my little feeling better tricks: The Gratitude List. More often than not, writing it works a heck of a lot better than thinking it… And I am so grateful, that, somehow, I am still sober…
It is June 11th once more – today is my son’s 29th birthday. The following is a re-post of the day of his (fast) birth… And today, during this time of grieving for his grandfather, it is a joy for me to celebrate the man who my son has become. After putting himself through night school for 2 years, my son received his MBA shortly after my father passed. Not only do I celebrate my father’s life – I also celebrate my son’s huge achievement and my excitement for him and his brilliant future. My son is my family. And what a blessed family I have…
Here’s the post I wrote 4 years ago, HAPPY DAY OF BIRTH, SON:
For many years on his birthday, I’ve called my son at 10:08AM – the time he was born. I get a kick out of being that kind of mom. 25 years ago I was only in labor for 3 hours. (Yes, I said three hours.) When we arrived at the hospital and got on the elevator, the contractions were so intense that I had to awkwardly squat down on my knees for fear I might fall from the pain. Some how I spoke through my agony as the elevator started to move, “Oh my God, this baby is ready to be born”, I gasped to my then husband. The people riding on the elevator with me did not say a word as the doors opened when we arrived on the maternity floor. A couple of people helped me up and off I waddled – on my way to give birth! My son was over due, ready, and starting to be born while I was still in the labor room (I’ll spare you the details) and by the time they finally wheeled me into the delivery room, Tyler was on his way! I noticed my doctor had not even arrived yet. “Where’s my doctor?!!” Needless to say, things were getting a little exciting during my speedy “FedEx” type of delivery and apparently I thought that was as good of a time as any to start screaming my head off. No, not like a woman in labor, but, perhaps like a woman who was witnessing a murder or something. At that exact moment, my doctor literally burst through the doors of the delivery room. He held his cloth face mask over his nose and mouth with his hand as the untied strings hung freely and touched his plaid shirt. As he was holding the face mask in place, I noticed he had on a beautiful, big artistic silver turquoise ring with a matching watch and band. Incredibly masculine. I felt relieved at the sight of my cool and hip doctor and stopped screaming as I got back to business and continued to push. To my dismay, my cool doctor started to scold me for screaming at the top of my lungs – he had heard me from down the hall. “Geeze. Well, where have you been?” I said to him. And then he started to explain how first babies usually don’t arrive so quickly while one of the nurses started tieing his face mask on for him while another helped him with his scrubs while I was pushing and pushing and . . . then . . . . silence . . . “It’s a boy!” More of that silence. (But he is lavender? Are they all like that? Lavender?) More silence followed by my son’s father crying and barely getting the words out, “I knew it was going to be a boy!” He looked at me and said, “Can I hold him first?” I nodded my head, “yes”.
The silence that was getting my attention was that my son was not crying, he didn’t even peep. Not a sound. It made me feel uneasy, I mean, after all, he was lavender too. I did not remember receiving a memo on lavender babies. “Is he ok?”
“Why isn’t he crying? Isn’t he supposed to cry?”
“You know what? I don’t think your son feels like crying. He is just fine. A fine, healthy baby boy.” I’ll never forget my doctor’s words.
Quiet new son Tyler was being held by his grateful sobbing new daddy.
And that is pretty much how my baby boy has been for most of his 25 years, incredibly mellow, cool, calm and collected. Totally together during any kind of confusion, chaos or stress that life can bring. He just has that kind of demeanor, along with an occasional joyous loud laugh that makes anyone want to laugh along with him.
Yep, amazing to think he was born 25 years ago. My son was born in 1985. I got divorced – as well as sober – in 1987. The odds were completely against me to make it on my own, let alone be a good sober mom. No child deserves a drunk parent. A drunk parent can change even the most mellow of kids. There is no reason or excuse to be drunk, especially when there is a solution and a joyful way of life to be found. It is always possible to find a solution, eventually.
My last drink was on August 1st, 1987. My 30th birthday. I was ready.
My blessings are abundant.