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Posts Tagged ‘happiness’

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?”

“Yes!”

“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.

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20110507 missing oak tree

I refuse to react.

I refuse to participate on any level with a bully.

I refuse to allow anyone or anything distract my father from his continued comfort, peace and healing.

Only God will guide me in my decision making.

I am strong. I am tall. I am clever. I am tenacious.

Perhaps I am a daddy’s girl after all.

 

 

 

 

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I am thankful for positive words when I needed them immensely…

You are beautifulI am thankful for having a trusted (handsome) friend to lean on…

darrell & me  07.2013

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I feel victorious when I find a Victory Garden

I feel victorious when I find a Victory Garden

I feel victorious when I see a piece of the ocean

I feel victorious when I see a piece of the ocean

I feel victorious when I am able to be still

I feel victorious when I am able to be still

When I have another day sober – I am victorious!

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to see my cat when she thinks she is hiding

seeing my cat when she thinks she is hiding

taking a healing epsom salt bath with natural oils

taking a healing epsom salt bath with natural oils

watching the colors change during a sunset

watching the colors change during a sunset

seeing I Love You in a new light

receivng I Love You in a new light

receiving bright colored tulips from a visiting friend

bright colored tulips from a visiting friend

 

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Mind, body and spirit . . .

During the time that I had to stop drinking was when I started noticing the importance of the balance with my mind-body-spirit.  Then, the “body” part was obvious and easy. I loved to hop on my bike and ride down to the beach.  Cruising the strand on a cloudy weekday morning was my absolute fave because it was sure to be crowd free.  I let the feeling of the cool damp air cover my body.  Slowing down, but not yet stopping, I’d look out to the ocean, “aah my ocean, there you are, I see you now.”  No matter what level my spirit was resting on – as if it was on auto pilot – it would take off and suddenly be lifted to a higher brighter place.  There it was, the connection to the universe that I spent so much time longing for.

Ah, but the mind. Not so easy. Think. Think. Think. Where’s the answer?  How do I calm my sober mind?! I never knew what anxiety was till I quit drinking! And so many resentments! I allowed them to hang on to me like a sucker-fish hitching a free ride on the side of a whale. Thank God for a little time – a little sober time is helpful as I seek the fine balance in my life.

Alas, things are a little different for me today.  No longer living at the beach. No more bike riding. Unemployment.  Standing by for disability. A city that does not yet quite feel like home. Chronic pain. Fatigue. It is what it is. . .

This morning I wake up after a long painful restless un-sleep. I see the early sun peering in through my east facing windows – my tummy makes sounds like a squeaky door in a haunted house.  Geeze.  That can’t be good.  My mind has started the morning from a place of empty darkness.

Disconnected.  Disappointed.

Here we go again – pain tightening its grip on me with each slow step of the body.  I let out a big sigh full of extreme sadness.  The sudden ringing of my cell phone interrupts my focus on my rusty joints.  Not being fit mentally to put two sentences together – I have no choice but to let it go to voice mail.  I can not think logically.  I can not move gracefully.  My spirit needs to answer the phone.  My brain is full of fog, like a spider web hanging inches above a swamp.

As I stand at the top of my stairs I am still – and as if I’m watching an old home movie – I look down and see all of the things I need to do:

Time to get a move on with my day!  Carefully, painfully I move my arms to hold on to the railing on either side, my hands, stiff, swollen and hurting, looking like they belong on a mannequin in a store window on Main Street.  Perhaps it is too soon to try to go downstairs – however – old habits are hard to break.  I am a manager who needs to grab a cup of coffee, shower, and go open the shop…  One step down. Step together.

I am a single mom who needs to drop her son off at school on the way to work… Two steps down. Step together.

I am a surfer girl who needs to paddle out and play in the ocean… Three steps down. Step together.

Agony pulsating through my body in such a way that it feels I might break. I wait for my body to follow the directions of my brain.  Agonizing endless stabbing pains run down my right arm ending with stabs so real that I look at my hand expecting to see blood.  The pain debilitating from the stabbing.  Seems so odd to me that there is no blood.

I force myself to focus on what is in front of me.  Ever so carefully – one more step together.

With another slight move forward, silently my foot slips out from under me – I land on my ass and my lower back hits the stairs as I awkwardly slide and bump down to the bottom.  I am alone yet I feel embarrassed, mortified, stunned, defeated.

I do not cry.  In fact, I hear nothing. The morning is quite still. The sun, bright.  Grace, my cat, is squinting her sleepy eyes as she starts to do her graceful stretches, like she thinks she is a yoga teacher this morning. As she walks past me she softly rubs along my pain ridden legs as she heads towards the kitchen – where her food and water bowls are.

By this time I’ve pulled myself up as I continue my incredible journey.  I try my best to put the weight of my steps on the out side of my feet where the pains are not quite as horrific.  Once more I forgot to put my thick socks and tennies on. (Now there’s a nice look, jammies and tennies.)  Finally, I lean to the right and make my way to the cozy kitchen.  This time I land my rear-end safely on the cushy bar stool that I had put there in case I need to sit while I’m in the kitchen.

I look down and I’m surprised to see Grace sitting next to her empty bowl.  She is silent.  Big round green eyes looking sweetly and patiently at me.  With a slight tilt of her head, the chubby furry cat waits for me.  She does not impatiently beg for her morning food.  She doesn’t mind.  Is she waiting?  Does she have faith in me?  A cat that does not scream a “meow!” or two at me?  She is in the present moment. Slowly, carefully, I feed her as the sound of her beautiful and extremely loud purr fills the silent morning. The cool cat is fed. My first victory of the day.

Wanting, longing, to sit on my couch, I made my way to the living room.   Carefully, I stretched out on the couch. A much better landing this time. Heaven.  A piece of the mind and body starting to move towards their connection. . .

And what was waiting for me? The beautiful flowers that my dear childhood friend gave me the day before. The aura of the love behind this gift engulfed my defeated spirit.  An overwhelming sence of acceptance covered me in an instant.  I felt my spirit now moving towards the mind and body. . . Somehow, everything was just the way it was supposed to be.  I was brought back to the moment.  My moment. My connection of mind, body, and spirit.

Perhaps I’ll just take my very own special “sick day” today.  My job today, just as it has been for the past couple years, is to regain my health.  Yep, I’m calling in sick today. I give myself permission to move slow, rest on the couch and focus on the beautiful flowers with the cute black and purple vase that sit in my cozy little home.  The flowers that were given to me by my dear childhood friend.  They were given with the beloved intention of love and hope.  And without love and hope, I have nothing.

dd flowers

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It happened again. My favorite flower, the iris, opened on the first day of spring. My special flower of sobriety can still bring me hope.  It’s personal meaning lifts my spirit. And all I need to do is look, see, and notice what is around me and my vision will capture the importance of such simple beauty.

the bud on the day before spring. . .

the bud on the day before spring. . .

the next day. It's the 1st day of spring! My iris is right on time. . .

the next day. It’s the 1st day of spring! My iris is right on time.

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