Today is Patriot day or more ominously, 9/11. Many of you have your own stories to tell about that day and the days surrounding those horrific events. Just as when our parents remember Pearl Harbor or the day JFK was shot, we will remember what we were doing, thinking and feeling that Tuesday morning 8 years ago.
On Tuesday September 11, 2001 I was employed by a major airline. My normal role was as the manager of a small team dedicated to employee recognition, meeting and event planning and the assurance that all corporate initiatives were completed by the 32000 worldwide employees in my division. Basically we spent money on fun. It was by far one of the coolest jobs I have ever had. I was also trained for the airlines SAP... special assistance program. The SAP was the go team in the unlikely event of an airline “incident”. I had dual responsibilities including data reconciliation, procurement and as a survivor assistant on the incident site team.
That morning I was working from home, prepping for my proposal presentation for an upcoming division meeting. My husband was living 600 miles away, my daughter was in AZ at college and my son was in his senior year of high school was still asleep. My son was being incredibly difficult that morning, basically refusing to get out of bed and get to school. I, at one point went to get something out of the car he had been driving the night before when I found 2 unopened bottles of beer under the driver’s seat. I was incensed. As I ran back in to the house, I head Peter Jennings say a small plane had hit the twin towers. I had an amazingly strange feeling come over me and I knew, life was about to change. I succeeded in getting my son out of bed by telling him about the crash. As we watched the beginnings of what would ultimately be non-stop coverage, I called our control center. No sooner had I been connected than the 2nd plane hit. I could tell by the colors, it was our plane. There is a sick sense of relief in the airline industry when there is an “incident” and you realize that it’s not your aircraft… As I waited on hold for confirmation that the team was being activated, I began to plan. If I had to leave to work the crash, what would I do with my son? Could my husband get back in town? At that point, the scope of what was happening seemed to only affect my world. I was not yet entrenched along with millions of people around the world, in the gravity of what was happening.
As a SAP team member we were required to keep a suitcase packed with enough clothing to last a week, stored in your car. Ideally the team should be ready to travel within an hour of an incident. I had used my suitcase the prior week to attend a hockey tournament in Boston. As I waited on the phone for confirmation that I had been activated, I asked my son to help me. I sent this poor 17 year old down to the laundry room to grab 5 pairs of panties, 2 bras and so on… when would that ever be appropriate?
I received the confirmation I needed and contacted my husband. My husband had been in a meeting and no idea what was happening. I told him I had been activated and needed to leave. He told me he loved me and to be safe and that he would figure out the next steps in terms of our son. We didn’t know at that time there would be no air travel for days, we didn’t know there were other aircraft under attach. There was just so much we didn’t know. I was packed and ready to go. I looked at my son, so young. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I knew I had to leave. I grabbed my son and held him tighter than I had ever held on to anything or anyone. He was shaking. I looked him in the eye and said, “If you are ever going to be a man, I need it to start right now”. He nodded and kissed me.
I don’t remember much about the drive from my home to the command center. I only remember being hysterical for what I knew would be my only opportunity to lose control that day… As I arrived I was briefed along with those on the team. At that time we were told our plane was the second in to the Twin Towers. We were also told there were a number of planes” out of contact”. At that moment, we were told a plane had smashed in to the Pentagon. As terrible as it sounds, the question of “whose plane is it” went through the room. No one knew the answer to that question. Air travel had been stopped in to and out of US airspace. Planes were grounded immediately. I was asked to help begin the process of designing teams for where we may end up sending manpower. Ironically the company was holding a number of large scale leadership meeting in Chicago that day. We had an abundance of skilled employees should we need them. We were very well prepared for one aircraft incidents. This situation had the potential to involve many planes and many, many lives. We began to prepare for 5 teams. One to be deployed to Boston the origin of the aircraft that crashed in to the towers, one to New York, one to D.C. anticipating the Pentagon crash was ours and 2 teams marked only with question marks. These represented plane we could not make contact with. I walked around the huge room we were in introducing myself and asking if anyone had bio-medical experience. We were given information regarding one of the question mark planes. The pilot made contact and it had landed safely. We were then alerted to Flt #93. Our flight, flying too low over Ohio. The NTSB locals arrived along with the state police and FBI. We were beginning to get a clear picture that this was not just a fluke or major malfunction of the nation’s air traffic system. Flt 175, the Boston flight was reconciled and the passenger and crew list certified. The phone teams arrived and took over as emergency family contact numbers were activated. We concentrated on completing our teams. In between briefings and teaming, we secured blocks of hotel rooms in New York and Boston. These would serve as work locations as well as lodging for passenger families. The response boxes, large metal cabinets with the ability to turn a plain meeting room in to a communication center were readied for air travel. Pallets of cell phones, fax machines, printer and computers were stacked at the dock waiting to be assigned to a site. The Towers came down and word spread that Flt 93 crashed in to a remote section in Somerset County PA. The aircraft in to the Pentagon, not ours. All planes accounted for. We decided we needed 3 team readied for immediate travel. One to NYC, one to BOS and one to Shanksville, PA. The president stops all air travel until further notice. Both air carriers were give special permission by mid afternoon to have one plane go to one location. We decided to send a team to PA based on the premise that we could actually gain access and begin the next steps.
I stood on the tarmac, taken aback by the silence. We all had automatically put ear plugs in… but there was no need. While there were aircraft in every possible section of the tarmac, they were silent. I stood in between an FBI agent and 2 huge National Guardsmen. I had the list and information of those who were flying in the only aircraft in US skies. They were headed to Johnstown, PA and then by bus to Shanksville. None of us knew if the skies were safe or if the aircraft was ok. These dedicated team members, one by one boarded the back stairs of the plane to do what they could for those passenger’s families and loved ones. I read the information on my list to the FBI guy and he verified the team member’s credentials. Many of these people were my friends. Many of them were visibly scared and shaken. Most of them hugged me tight and whispered in my ear. Many asked that if something happened would I please tell their husband, wife and/or children that they loved them. I made promises that day that I prayed I would never ever have to keep. As the plane took off I cried. I cried because I was scared, because I was confused and because I knew what lay ahead.
We returned to the command center only to be told that we could send out another aircraft. The plane to Johnstown had landed safely. Boston was the next team to roll. As we prepared to board the buses to the airport, we were called back. Something had changed and we were now on a 3 hour delay. It was now roughly 6pm. I called home and got updates from my son. I called my husband. We discussed ways for him to back to our son. I called my daughter. She always wants to be in control and she so wanted to come home and watch over her brother. But I explained that I needed to know she was safe at school while I did what I was going to have to do over the next few days. At 8:00 they sent those that lived within an hour, home and the rest went to a hotel. We were now delayed until sometime in the early morning. I went home to find my neighbors in my front yard. They knew where I was and were working out who would feed my son. I came in to the house and made some calls. I was glued to the TV. We had such limited information all day that I only knew what was happening with our planes… nothing else. I had not heard about the people jumping from the towers, the evacuations from New York and all that the outside world had been watching all day. At midnight the call came to be back at the command center at 3:00.
We departed at 5:00 am. The plane was packed with SAP members, FBI, NTSB and a few AFT hitched a ride as well. The plan was to take our plane first to Newark, drop off a team and equipment and then on to Boston. I was to prep the crew, oversee the removal of equipment in Newark, re-board the aircraft and go on to Boston, set up Boston and drive back to New York to lead the team there. As we got settled on the plane, the pilot came on the PA and said that while we were welcome to listen to air traffic, it may be boring as we were the only aircraft in US airspace. They also referred to the hospitality crew, commonly known as F16 Fighter Jets that escorted us on our trip. Everyone put on their headset and listened to a succession of welcomes and sighs of relief from air traffic controllers across the country. “Glad to hear you in the sky”, “Godspeed and God bless” from those unseen but heartfelt comrades. As we began our descent in to Newark, the pilot gave the information, if we wanted to see it, we were about to fly past what had once been the glorious World Trade Center. It was devastating. Smoke still rose from the wreckage and the past 22 hours came hauntingly in to perspective.
Remembrance part 2
We had to do a short landing. The pilot told us to brace as his instructions were to land and stop. He was told that any deviation could cause problems. I had already been instructed to have the flight attendants change in to street clothes prior to landing. This directive was designed to keep them safe in the event there were media in the airport or other undesirables. The pilots had already changed out of uniform shirts in to polo shirts. We landed and immediately stopped. It was rough. As we taxied to our gate there were planes everywhere. I’d never seen more aircraft in one place before. The F16s were next to us the entire time. As we pulled to the gate we asked that those continuing on to Boston stay seated. I went with a number of others in to the terminal to meet with the team from Newark for a briefing. Some of the FBI, NTSB and ATF left our group. One AFT officer who I had sat with on the plane came and hugged me. He wished me good luck and I to him. As we were flying past the World Trade Center, a few moments before, I was in the window seat, he in the middle. He leaned over to see the wreckage with me… in that very short time as we passed by what were the towers, many of us became, emotional. He took my hand and held it very sweetly. I will forever be connected to this man I only know as Kurt. As Kurt hugged me, he whispered his well wishes in my ear, I could feel this huge, well muscled man, trained to deal with incredibly difficult people and situations, tremble. I was introduced to my escorts. 2 National Guardsmen with large guns on not only their hips, but in their hands. We made our way to the tarmac and began off loading the equipment earmarked for the local team. I was given instruction as to where I was allowed, where my parameters were. With every step I took, Guardsmen took an equal step. If I turned to the right, he turned to the right; the soldier on the left would stand guard. I was running, in heels mind you, between 2 belt loaders, one in the front of the plane, and one in the back. I think I crashed into my Guard about 20 times. He always apologized even though it was my fault. At one point I asked if we could compromise on the step to step issue. Right guard said no, left guard said yes. I told them that this process would be a lot faster in they got out of my way. I think I said something stupid like, shoot me if you have too, but get out of my way. They eased up a bit and the transfer of equipment was complete. Those of us who had left the aircraft boarded and we took off for Boston. I was exhausted. I had been operating on pure adrenalin and lots of caffeine. I tried to close my eyes for the short trip to Logan International. I remember my mind racing through what had to be done as soon as we landed. I kept thinking about my husband, kids and family. What would happen if something happened? Did they know what day the trash was supposed to be picked up? Did they know how much I loved them?
We arrived in Boston with little fanfare. The tech team unloaded equipment and headed for the hotel to set up. The site team met with the local team to be briefed and accept the official paperwork for the flight. I had been given information that 2 Logan airline employees had been passengers on 175. The employees were gate agents on their way to Las Vegas via Los Angeles. Because the local team was mostly agents, they were understandably devastated. Not only had they lost 2 beloved colleagues, but they had checked in, boarded and dispatched flight 175. They were shaken and relieved that we had come in to help take some of the pressure off their shoulders. As the team began to hear the details of the passengers and what families were already seeking assistance, the enormity began to sink in.
We were transported to the hotel where we immediately began to set up our work room. Because this was not a normal crash, there was an extra layer of security and many legalities to contend with. The tech team had us up and running within hours, we had everyone in rooms, had met with the catering teams and received our official documents regarding passengers. The normal scenario for a crash has the airline at one hotel along with the official governing body, normally the NTSB. At a nearby hotel, the American Red Cross and the passenger families as well as media and other interested parties. The reason for the separation is the need to have space and time between entities. In the case of 9/11 there were so many planes, so many people and so much detail and data that we were forced to all be in one hotel. FBI, ATF, Mass-port police, passenger families, site teams, Red Cross, the other airline and so on took over the Logan Hilton in what is normally the slowest time of year. The Hilton had actually let their seasonal staff go the Friday before. With the full to capacity hotel and not enough manpower to manage meal times for the various groups, it was decided that all “working staff” would be served 3 meals a day buffet style on what was now being called the “staff floor”. The 3rd floor had numerous meeting and banquet rooms. All entities were assigned rooms and staff liaisons. We were also given our own Mass-port security detail. A large banquet room would serve as our cafeteria. Teams were given credentials allowing them access to the 3rd floor. The elevators and escalators were guarded at all times.
The work of creating passenger files fell to me and a kindly gentleman I did not know. We worked long in to the night prepping for the intense work the next day would bring. At around 2:00am we had finished creating the files and reconciled data based on family phone calls and contacts. We had designed data bases of local businesses for the family reps to access as well as assigned cell phones and rental cars. As we prepared to close up the work room there was a knock on the door. 2 FBI agents and 2 AFT agents came in asking for, me. Ok, I thought …what now… they asked that I contact my airlines legal team back in to Chicago. I did. I was told that I would be used to read some of the data regarding the tickets that were used by what we now knew were the highjackers. I was told I would work with this team providing any information they needed. I know I was shaking. They began by asking me to dissect the ticketing data... where was the ticket sold, who sold it, how did they pay for it. Then I verified the transaction logs. This is the log that is updated every time something having to do with a ticket is touched. When did the passenger check in? Did they change their seat assignment? When did they board the plane? The gate agents were interviewed shortly after the crash as is standard practice. They would have been asked to document their activities and I was simply confirming or not, what they had stated. We worked on this until about 4:30am. As we all exchanged business cards and contact information, we started to leave the work room. One of the FBI agents asked who was responsible for the passenger files. I thought he was asking because they were so neat and organized. Nope, he was asking because they were considered legal evidence and needed to be in a sort of protective custody at all times. It ended up that I was the holder of the files. This meant that with the exception of our working hours in the work room, the files had to remain with me at all times. No problem during the day, but at night, when we closed and locked the work room, the files had to go up to my room with me. I also had to be escorted when bringing the files to and from my room. So each night I called and an FBI or ATF agent took me and my file to my room, at exactly 5:50am every day for the next 3 weeks there was a knock on my door for my morning escort. That first day, my files and I arrived safely in our room at 4:45 am… The first full on passenger family interaction day began for me just 1 hour and 15 minutes later. My escorts learned very, very quickly how wonderful I can be when someone brings me coffee.
At home things were a bit calmer. My husband couldn’t get a flight back to our son and was planning to make the drive on Friday by himself. As luck and the powers that be would have it, some sales reps from his company had rented a van and were driving on Wednesday evening. They happened to have room for one more. He arrived home on Thursday and thankfully his employer understood and allowed him to work from home for the next week or so.
Remembrance part 3
My work days began with a briefing conference call. We learned how much operating cash the airlines had on hand. This was critical because no airline was allowed to fly and no fly means no cash. It was unbelievable how little operating cash was available. While the no fly was hurting all carriers, United and American also had mounting costs dealing with the families, employees and staffing needs for those directly involved. We exchanged data on family contacts, site progress, investigational needs and next steps.
We handed out assignments to the family reps and took stock of who from each family would be our contact. We worked hard with the telephone team as they had been the link to the passenger’s families prior to the team’s arrival. At this point, it was decided that I would stay in Boston. There was little to do for the airline teams in New York. Most of the passengers on flight 175 were from the greater Massachusetts area or from the intended destination of LA. Our main focus was to do whatever we could for the families. Some required counseling and we looked to the Red Cross for almost all of those needs. I worked on the administrative and legal issues. I worked closely with the company when it came time to meeting with the families of the 2 Logan employees. The pilots and flight attendants families were not part of the group we worked with. We only worked with the passengers. I remember when I met with the FBI and AFT that first night in Boston. One of the ATF handed me a manifest. He also handed me the updated contact list. The contact list is the master document that shows who from what passenger’s family has called and made contact with the airline. At that point there were numerous contacts next to each passenger, except for 5. The space next to those names was blank. I felt as though I had been slapped in the face. I stupidly said something like… “Wow, look no one has called about these guys”. The AFT agent just stared at me. SLAP. Ok, I got it. No one would ever be calling about those passengers. In meeting with the employee’s families, I had to discuss the insurance payout and forms, payable vacation and all the details of the benefits the family was entitled to. If I can say one personal piece of advice; get your house in order. None of us know what tomorrow or even today brings. Be sure your family knows everything they may need to know about you, your past and what maybe uncovered in the event of your death.
I didn’t get off the Hilton property at all during that first week. The extent of my fresh air was on the first Friday. The nation held a candle light vigil and we observed it at the Hilton. I used one of my sisters as a lifeline, calling her when I needed a calming female voice. She “went” with me to various activities while I was in Boston, via cell phone. My sister “attended” the vigil with me from her front porch in the Midwest. While my husband and children offered me more love and support than can ever be repaid or properly acknowledged, my sister was as I stated earlier, my lifeline to the outside world. I never have been able to thank her and to this day I cannot put my gratitude in to words. The image of all the staff from airlines, security, Red Cross and victim’s families standing together holding candles was overwhelming. People pulled in off the highway and joined us. I remember seeing a group of motorcycle guys standing off to the side, holding up a huge American flag. The outside of the main entrance of the Hilton had a glass overhang. In the middle of the service I looked up…. All the candles were reflected back down on us… it looked magical and took my breath away. Slowly, everyone noticed the beautiful illumination and we were all so moved. The Logan airport Chaplin presided over our vigil. This dynamic man met with us daily as not only a spiritual guide, but as a trusted member of the community and for me, a newly acquired friend.We continued to plan and execute memorials and prayer services for the victims. We built a Viking boat, set up a service at a football stadium and ran the concession stand, planned a service for a Jewish man at a Christian church, and facilitated a service at a hall at Harvard, work with city officials to assist with parking for events and security against the media for families. At one point we began to work with the coroners to gather DNA for possible victim identification. I worked with the Connecticut State Police when a family member left her dress at home and decided she needed it to attend her daughter’s service. A trooper gained entry into the house, got the dress, and drove it to Boston. We cleaned houses and painted rooms. We took kids for haircuts and shopping for clothes for services. We cooked and served meals. We did anything and everything families needed us to do. I got little sleep but was invigorated by the challenges. I compiled a daily briefing newsletter chronicling the events for the day and updating what families were considered, completed. Once a family’s immediate needs had been met, the family rep took a step back. There is the chance of a growing dependency on both sides so we monitored our team very closely. Each evening we held a team de-brief. We all gathered in a suite and shared our stories of our day and an adult beverage. Much care was taken to ensure a minimum amount of alcohol was available. We had a fabulous team of counselors with us, for us. These de-briefing sessions were mandatory and they were a great way to gauge each other’s emotional state. It was a huge group therapy session every night. We would also announce who would be leaving the next day. Given the situation we were in, there were some relationships formed, quickly and deeply. Some were very healthy and have continued to last to this day. Some were neither healthy nor lasted. As we moved in to the second week, we began to send reps home to their own families. Our little leadership team wanted to do something special for each person as they left. The impact of this time was something that few would ever be able to express to those not involved. The evening before a team member or members were to leave, they were honored at the de-brief. Each was presented with a guardian angel pin, blessed by our new found friend, the airport Chaplin. Each was also given a book I created with photos taken from the airplane as we passed over the World Trade center. The book also included other photos, team pictures and a poem that was our team mantra. Contact information became the first page everyone looked to. When the team member boarded their flight home, they were seated in First Class and presented with a bottle of champagne by the Captain. The Captain also paid tribute to the special assistance member over the PA. I understand that on each flight, the passengers erupted in a tremendous applause of gratitude. When the flight landed at the team member’s home airport, we made sure to have their family as well as many colleagues and co-workers there to meet and greet our returning heroes.When I returned after almost 3 weeks, I asked that there be no fanfare. I was tired, sad and a bit disoriented. I was also worried about my colleague and now lifelong friend who was staying behind to close out the project. The captain did tell the other passengers and they did applaud. I did receive my champagne, still have it. On my final night, there was just me and my colleague. We had received our pins and booklets a few nights before. The team presented me with a gift, a large brass lantern. Odd I thought until I read the inscription on the front. It simply said, “You were the light that guided this team to greatness”. As I came off the airplane I saw my husband, I knew I truly have never been happier to see anyone in my life. Every fear I had suppressed for the past 3 weeks came rushing forward as he held me in his arms. I remember sobbing. Sobbing for all that had been lost, all that still was to be discovered, all I had gained and all that lay ahead.There are a million more stories I could tell you about those three weeks as well as the weeks, months and years since. I have continued relationships with members of the team, families of the victims and those I worked so diligently with. Those are for another time.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Saturday February 6, 2010 Image
What a powerful word. I often think of how my image of myself would compare with the image others have of me. I believe we all have a variety of images in our lives. I think if you asked my neighbors what they thought of me, you would get an answer different from the one my work colleagues would give. I know there are many in the world who believe me to be a fairly together, well adjusted and confident woman. Sorry folks, that’s really not my image of me. Our self image recipe comes from every single aspect of our lives. As adults, we have to take a cup of childhood self worth, a pound of teenage angst, a heaping tablespoon of media influence and so on to make up how we think of ourselves and then, how we present that image to the world. Then the world cooks it all up and creates its own opinions.
When I was growing up, I had a number of conflicts in my heart, head and home. I was what would be called the “fat kid” in my family. I find it ironic that the teasing and mockery about my weight came from inside my home rather than from school mates as is the norm. This isn’t a statement of blame or intended to harm anyone. It’s more about how what is said in an attempt to help can be so wrongly misinterpreted in the moment. It’s amazing to me how so many years later, a little song a family member made up and sang very loudly, very often, now comes in to my head as I’m on the treadmill.
The public image of my family was very different from what I knew to be true. When I was a kid, what happened in your home, stayed in your home. We didn’t have families showing up on Jerry Springer to air dirty laundry. Many of my friends had similar issues where the image of their home life was vastly different than what went on behind closed doors. In retrospect, you think back and wonder why your friend’s mom never came out of her bedroom or why you never interacted with the father. What was the story with the aunt living in the basement bedroom? Why did one kid in the neighborhood always seem to lurk at other houses at mealtime? I’m pretty sure that in our electronic, gotta have it now world, more people know more about each other than ever before. I’m not sure that is such a good thing.
I’ve recently discovered how easy it is to make judgments and create opinions on the image people portray online. We have created a society that decides self worth in under a minute based solely on a picture and a paragraph. We discard people because they don’t look how we want them to look or are not great writers. I’ll admit I do it too. I have a friend who felt I needed a push to the next phase in my life and set up an account on an online dating site. She posted a picture and wrote a bit about me. I found this out when e-mails began coming to my mailbox touting, my ideal match had been found! I quickly scanned the photo and the first line or 2 and moved to the next. Nope, nobody there for me. Then I realized, these “matches” had not made the choice to contact me. We had been matched based on some unknown criteria. Each of us was sent the others information and it was up to us to make the first move. I panicked at the thought of these men actually attempting to make contact with me. What was I supposed to say or do? Did people really meet this way? Was I even ready? As I continued to dabble in this new frontier, I began to discover some interesting if not funny things about men. OK, I know a lot of funny things about men but I think I am beginning to learn more about how they think.I love the profile that begins with a statement like, “I want a lady who is willing to put my needs above all else”. The next line talks about his love for his cats. No way. There was the guy who described himself as highly intelligent, wealthy, well educated, well connected, successful in business, a great father and so on. He is looking for a female (yes he used that word) with no higher education, no outside interests, looking to “be faithful to me but understand my need for exploration”. What the heck in my profile matches this garbage? I have to say he closed our connection almost immediately. His reasoning, the distance between our hometowns was too great. He lives in the next town over from mine. If you have the chutzpa to post a profile like that, have it to say you aren’t interested in a suggested match. The men that post that they are athletic crack me up. Many are but some of them look to have been athletic at some point in their lives but it hasn’t been in the last 20 years by the looks of their pictures. The pictures that show a guy with “a few extra pounds” or “husky” are so funny when accompanied by the request for a woman described as 5’ to 5’7, slender, 125-135lbs. He’d crush her like a bug. At one point I was changing my photo and as it was reviewed by the online powers that be, I was matched, picture-less. I was amazed to see the number of picture- less matches that contacted me, not to get acquainted but to say basically, let me see your picture and then I’ll let you know if you are worthy. Next time I see my late husband… he’s getting an earful for putting me in this position. This may not be the path I should be taking at this point, but at least it good for a laugh or two.
As I’ve walked through this journey my image of myself has changed drastically, both mentally and physically. I’m slowly changing from a wife and companion to wrapping my head around thinking like a single woman. I’m working hard to break my life down from everything being for a couple, to being for just one. I find myself having to think before answering personal questions so that I don’t give the answers that come to mind first. It’s interesting and very difficult to change your way of thinking. It’s going to take some time. At the end of October, I decided I need to physically change as well. Thanks to some great support from friends and family, I’ve had a significant weight loss and work out almost every day. I’ll just say, I’ve lost as much weight as my 6th month old Lab/Sheppard weighed in at the vet this week. As I’ve changed my thinking about my status, I’ve changed my thinking about food and how I eat. People have noticed and that’s great. My clothing is ridiculously too big. But as I walk past a mirror, I still don’t look. In my teenage years, I learned to look only at my face in the mirror. Because I believe I will only and always see the “fat-kid looking back at me, I avoid the disappointment. But the other day I was at a store. It was crowed and as I shuffled down an aisle, a lady with a cart pressed past me. I was forced to turn and face a full length mirror. I almost jumped back thinking there was someone on that side of me as well. But, no… it was me. I took a good long look. Looked up and down. I felt some confusion at what I saw. It wasn’t the “fat-kid”. It was an ok looking 49 year old woman. I discovered lines in my face that I hadn’t seen before. Where were those pesky double chins? Where those bones showing on my neck? As I turned I felt my face flush… where the heck was that sizable ass? It actually looked…not horrible, maybe even something close to ok. Walking away from the mirror I knew I’d quickly revert back to the old mental image I had swirling in my head. But maybe that’s not the worst thing. Maybe that image will always need to be somewhere in my head. Maybe the intended outcome of that terrible little song sung to me so many years ago, was having its intended effect. Maybe all of these things are what I need to find and embrace the image I want to achieve and portray for the next chapter of my life.
I hope so…
When I was growing up, I had a number of conflicts in my heart, head and home. I was what would be called the “fat kid” in my family. I find it ironic that the teasing and mockery about my weight came from inside my home rather than from school mates as is the norm. This isn’t a statement of blame or intended to harm anyone. It’s more about how what is said in an attempt to help can be so wrongly misinterpreted in the moment. It’s amazing to me how so many years later, a little song a family member made up and sang very loudly, very often, now comes in to my head as I’m on the treadmill.
The public image of my family was very different from what I knew to be true. When I was a kid, what happened in your home, stayed in your home. We didn’t have families showing up on Jerry Springer to air dirty laundry. Many of my friends had similar issues where the image of their home life was vastly different than what went on behind closed doors. In retrospect, you think back and wonder why your friend’s mom never came out of her bedroom or why you never interacted with the father. What was the story with the aunt living in the basement bedroom? Why did one kid in the neighborhood always seem to lurk at other houses at mealtime? I’m pretty sure that in our electronic, gotta have it now world, more people know more about each other than ever before. I’m not sure that is such a good thing.
I’ve recently discovered how easy it is to make judgments and create opinions on the image people portray online. We have created a society that decides self worth in under a minute based solely on a picture and a paragraph. We discard people because they don’t look how we want them to look or are not great writers. I’ll admit I do it too. I have a friend who felt I needed a push to the next phase in my life and set up an account on an online dating site. She posted a picture and wrote a bit about me. I found this out when e-mails began coming to my mailbox touting, my ideal match had been found! I quickly scanned the photo and the first line or 2 and moved to the next. Nope, nobody there for me. Then I realized, these “matches” had not made the choice to contact me. We had been matched based on some unknown criteria. Each of us was sent the others information and it was up to us to make the first move. I panicked at the thought of these men actually attempting to make contact with me. What was I supposed to say or do? Did people really meet this way? Was I even ready? As I continued to dabble in this new frontier, I began to discover some interesting if not funny things about men. OK, I know a lot of funny things about men but I think I am beginning to learn more about how they think.I love the profile that begins with a statement like, “I want a lady who is willing to put my needs above all else”. The next line talks about his love for his cats. No way. There was the guy who described himself as highly intelligent, wealthy, well educated, well connected, successful in business, a great father and so on. He is looking for a female (yes he used that word) with no higher education, no outside interests, looking to “be faithful to me but understand my need for exploration”. What the heck in my profile matches this garbage? I have to say he closed our connection almost immediately. His reasoning, the distance between our hometowns was too great. He lives in the next town over from mine. If you have the chutzpa to post a profile like that, have it to say you aren’t interested in a suggested match. The men that post that they are athletic crack me up. Many are but some of them look to have been athletic at some point in their lives but it hasn’t been in the last 20 years by the looks of their pictures. The pictures that show a guy with “a few extra pounds” or “husky” are so funny when accompanied by the request for a woman described as 5’ to 5’7, slender, 125-135lbs. He’d crush her like a bug. At one point I was changing my photo and as it was reviewed by the online powers that be, I was matched, picture-less. I was amazed to see the number of picture- less matches that contacted me, not to get acquainted but to say basically, let me see your picture and then I’ll let you know if you are worthy. Next time I see my late husband… he’s getting an earful for putting me in this position. This may not be the path I should be taking at this point, but at least it good for a laugh or two.
As I’ve walked through this journey my image of myself has changed drastically, both mentally and physically. I’m slowly changing from a wife and companion to wrapping my head around thinking like a single woman. I’m working hard to break my life down from everything being for a couple, to being for just one. I find myself having to think before answering personal questions so that I don’t give the answers that come to mind first. It’s interesting and very difficult to change your way of thinking. It’s going to take some time. At the end of October, I decided I need to physically change as well. Thanks to some great support from friends and family, I’ve had a significant weight loss and work out almost every day. I’ll just say, I’ve lost as much weight as my 6th month old Lab/Sheppard weighed in at the vet this week. As I’ve changed my thinking about my status, I’ve changed my thinking about food and how I eat. People have noticed and that’s great. My clothing is ridiculously too big. But as I walk past a mirror, I still don’t look. In my teenage years, I learned to look only at my face in the mirror. Because I believe I will only and always see the “fat-kid looking back at me, I avoid the disappointment. But the other day I was at a store. It was crowed and as I shuffled down an aisle, a lady with a cart pressed past me. I was forced to turn and face a full length mirror. I almost jumped back thinking there was someone on that side of me as well. But, no… it was me. I took a good long look. Looked up and down. I felt some confusion at what I saw. It wasn’t the “fat-kid”. It was an ok looking 49 year old woman. I discovered lines in my face that I hadn’t seen before. Where were those pesky double chins? Where those bones showing on my neck? As I turned I felt my face flush… where the heck was that sizable ass? It actually looked…not horrible, maybe even something close to ok. Walking away from the mirror I knew I’d quickly revert back to the old mental image I had swirling in my head. But maybe that’s not the worst thing. Maybe that image will always need to be somewhere in my head. Maybe the intended outcome of that terrible little song sung to me so many years ago, was having its intended effect. Maybe all of these things are what I need to find and embrace the image I want to achieve and portray for the next chapter of my life.
I hope so…
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Wednesday 01/13/2010 Teach your children...
*****Sorry for the delay, I took the holidays off!*******
I’m blown away by the number of people I know who have recently had babies or who have had babies in the past year. I’m so happy for all of these folks. All brought their babies into a world with 2 very loving parents. The bonus is that in all these cases, to the best of my knowledge, the parents truly and deeply love each other as well.
So having taken this journey myself, also with a loving husband and father, I’d like to share some of what I believe you should teach your children. Hey, I’m no expert but then really, who is?
Teach your children:
To swim.
To be kind to everyone.
To ask questions.
To listen to the answers.
All about love.
What is important to you and why.
To tie a man’s tie... even girls need to know this.
To respect the earth.
To cook.
To laugh at themselves more than they laugh at others.
To fish.
To accept responsibility for their actions.
To trust.
To find the joy in the sun shining off the water.
To save money for a rainy day.
To appreciate, effort.
To see with their hearts as well as their eyes.
Why they are loved.
The value of winning and losing.
Why and how to tip.
How to do a Tequila shot.
That it's ok to make a mistake. The value will be in how you handle and accept the consequences of that mistake as well as the lessons you learn.
To help a stranger in need.
To value those they love for their hearts more than for their actions.
To understand the past, is past and cannot be changed.
That asking for help is not a sign of weakness.
To try new foods at least once before deciding they don’t like it.
It’s OK to have dessert, before dinner.
To be watch out, they may have kids of their own one day!
I hope so…
I’m blown away by the number of people I know who have recently had babies or who have had babies in the past year. I’m so happy for all of these folks. All brought their babies into a world with 2 very loving parents. The bonus is that in all these cases, to the best of my knowledge, the parents truly and deeply love each other as well.
So having taken this journey myself, also with a loving husband and father, I’d like to share some of what I believe you should teach your children. Hey, I’m no expert but then really, who is?
Teach your children:
To swim.
To be kind to everyone.
To ask questions.
To listen to the answers.
All about love.
What is important to you and why.
To tie a man’s tie... even girls need to know this.
To respect the earth.
To cook.
To laugh at themselves more than they laugh at others.
To fish.
To accept responsibility for their actions.
To trust.
To find the joy in the sun shining off the water.
To save money for a rainy day.
To appreciate, effort.
To see with their hearts as well as their eyes.
Why they are loved.
The value of winning and losing.
Why and how to tip.
How to do a Tequila shot.
That it's ok to make a mistake. The value will be in how you handle and accept the consequences of that mistake as well as the lessons you learn.
To help a stranger in need.
To value those they love for their hearts more than for their actions.
To understand the past, is past and cannot be changed.
That asking for help is not a sign of weakness.
To try new foods at least once before deciding they don’t like it.
It’s OK to have dessert, before dinner.
To be watch out, they may have kids of their own one day!
I hope so…
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Tuesday - 12/22/2009 Wishes
This past weekend I spent a wonderful day with my parents, sisters and their families. It had snowed the night before and it was a bit gloomy outside. The long car ride to their place in the world always gives me the opportunity for my generally scattered mind to wander a little farther than normal. A bit scary given that I am driving a car but I seem to be able to do these two things at once. I was enjoying wonderful holiday music by Mannheim Steamroller and thinking about the season, when I passed a huge sign that simply said… “What’s Your Christmas Wish?”
To almost everyone who either knows me or follows this blog, my answer is seemingly obvious. As quickly as I thought of my wish, I thought about why maybe that wasn’t really what my wish would or should be. I’ve wished for many things in my life. I have been blessed with the granting of many of those wishes. But what was granted wasn’t always what I thought I had wished for. Sometimes it was better. Sometimes it was very different but turned out to be what I should have wished for in the first place. And sometimes I received what I needed more, when the wish wasn’t granted.
As a kid, it was a fabulous day, that day, every December; when the mailman brought the big Sears “Wish Book”. My brother and sisters and I would get a pen or marker and start circling anything and everything we thought was wanted or needed from the back of the big catalog. The life sized dolls. The doll houses, the roller skates and on and on. There were fights about whose turn it was to view the book, who had it too long. My poor parents. As I think back, I never really remember ever getting anything from those wish books. I don’t know that my parents ever even went through the motions of pretending to take note of the items circled… but on Christmas morning, it didn’t matter. The gifts we were given were always more than we expected and in their own way, the gift we should have wished for. All my childhood Christmas morning memories are wonderful and cherished.
One year, I wished for a Dance-a-rina doll. I wished harder than I had ever wished before for the 3 foot, ballet dancing, toe shoe wearing, big bad hair like a 1st runner up in a Miss Alabama beauty pageant, doll. If you manipulated the plastic crown on her head, after inserting 12 D cell batteries in her back, she could twirl around on her toes. Very cool. She was the hot item that year, a sure sign I wasn’t getting her. I hinted, cut out magazine ads, annoyingly sang the jingle at every opportunity but knew my parents well enough to know the chances of that 3 foot blond bombshell being my gift were slim to none. But like Ralphie and his Red Ryder Carbine Action BB Gun, I just had to keep wishing. As the day got closer, nothing even remotely sized or shaped like Dance-a-rina had been brought into the house. I don’t remember if my excitement began to fade or my stress level rose as time began to run out. One evening, my mom asked me to run out to the car and get her cigarettes. Ok, it was the early 70’s, you sent your kids to get stuff like that and, hold on... kids were sent to get the parent’s drinks as well. I do owe the fact that I make one hell of a fine martini (3 olives please) to the misguidance of parents that didn’t believe asking an 8 year old to mix a cocktail may not be the best developmental or age appropriate task. Anyway, as I pushed open the screen door, Mom yelled that they were in the back seat… who the heck leaves their cigarettes in the back seat? Weirdo. As I looked in to the back, all I saw was a pile of dry cleaning, no cigarettes. I knew if I went back in to that house without those darn cigarettes, my mom would be very upset. So I jumped in the back and dove into the pile of dry cleaning. As I crashed in to the pile… I lost my breath. Could it, no wait, yes... This was it!!! My wish, it had come true! But wait, was I supposed to find this or was this cruel trick? For many years my parents hid a neighbor’s kid’s Hanukah gifts at our house… oh God please don’t let this be one of those years… but I’ll admit, I didn’t know if I should scoop up the box and run gleefully in or if I should wipe the smile off my face and casually saunter back in the house like my world had not just collided with a parallel universe in the back seat of a Ford Fairlane…. So I grabbed the box and although it looked different than the box on TV, it was my Dance-a-rina and she belonged in the house. My mom and dad were standing at the door as I brought her in. Funny but they didn’t have the look I had come to expect. Usually when they had busted their bottoms to get one of us something special, they had a glow, an excitement to their face. So why did they look downright scared? No time to worry about them. My Dance-a-rina needed to be unpacked, batteries inserted and she needed to dance. As I began the slow tender process of getting her out of the box, it dawned on me… why wasn’t anyone offering to help me? Why was everyone watching so intently as I struggled with the box? Once I got the box open, I understood. I understood the look on my parent’s face, the need for my brother and sisters to stand aside and the reason why the box was somewhat different than the one on the Saturday morning commercials. This Dance-a-rina was, as we said back then…. Black. The room was so very still as everyone watch for my reaction. Would I accept this as the Dance-a-rina I was meant to have or would some terrible prejudice enter in to my 10 year old world? As I yelled “she’s so beautiful” a collective sigh of relief went through the entire house. The back story is that my parents literally went to every conceivable store to get this doll. At one point they relied on information from a fellow Dance-a-rina hunter who had heard about a truck load of the doll coming to a certain store. My parents made the trek and once got there were thrilled to learn that yes they had the doll. Yes they had the doll but only in the African American version. I’m pretty proud that my parents had enough faith in me and wanted so desperately to fulfill my wish that while I’m sure they were nervous, they took the leap of faith and made the purchase.
When my late husband and I had our children, we did, as my parents had, try to do all possible to make their wishes come true. We worked more than one job, worked opposite shifts, went without. Was all this hard, you bet. But it was so worth all the long hours, sore feet, sleep deprivation and the lack of extra funds to produce the great people I proudly call my kids. My kids didn’t get all they wished for, I don’t think anyone should. But the wishes that were granted and those they weren’t, helped make them who they are today.
The holidays have always been a time of giving back for my family. As a kid we always worked on projects that had us helping our community. As an adult I have been blessed to take part in some amazingly huge wish granting programs. My previous career was with a major corporation and every year the company would grant wishes for children who were part of the DCFS system. I always dreaded the day when we received the lists from thousand of kids along with their wishes. We had to do some organizing of lists and set up how they would be distributed throughout the company. Employees would come and grab a stack of wish letters and read through them until they found the one they wanted to grant. I believe there was a two week turn time between getting the wish and returning the item or items for distribution. In all the years I was involved, we were so fortunate to grant an average of 5000 wishes each and every year. The wishes were for everything from underwear to bikes. How sad to make your one shot at a really big wish, be for underwear. Think of all the times your parents got you socks for Christmas, how did you feel? Did you ever really have to wish for a pair of tightie-whities? Sadly many kids wished for items for their mom or dad. Some even wished for food. I always loved that my kids actively participated in this event. I still get goose bumps thinking about the huge trucks being loaded with the mass quantities of gifts, wishes now fulfilled. DCFS never anticipated the care and compassion of my fellow employees. The generosity was overwhelming. If a kid asked for a bike… he got the Cadillac of bikes. We were always allotted one 18 wheeler… most years we had to hire an additional 3 or 4 trucks to take everything to the agency. The sense of pride that comes along with giving back is indescribable. In many ways, my family was not the norm in our wish granting or our desire to give back. We also gave of our time and talents as well. I always wondered why some believe that you can only give items or money to make a difference in this world. Your time has an amazing value, as do your talents. Until we moved back to this area we had always participated in a huge day of service held every June. Thousands of folks gathered together to join in and paint the schools in this major Midwest town. Some years our kids joined us, but most years it was just my husband and I. I’ll always remember quite fondly the year we realized this event would take place on our 25th wedding anniversary. We never considered not attending. What better way to celebrate our accomplishment then by assisting in the painting of over 200 schools. We agreed that this was our way of, together giving back. As I write this, I’m so fondly reminded of walking in to the classroom he was painting, I had been painting the hall. On the far wall in the most obnoxious pink paint was written… “I love you more this minute than ever before… I can’t wait to see how I feel in an hour, 25 years… piece of cake! Let’s go for 25 more”. I couldn’t wish for anything more…
So, what is my Christmas wish? Of course I wish you all whatever your heart most desires. I wish all the babies recently born into my world or those just about to introduce themselves, all the love they need, all the happiness they can hold and all the best of everything. My wish for the new parents is simple, breath, trust, love and laugh. I wish for my family and friends to know all that they mean to me. I wish them to know my love for them deepens every day. I wish for my wonderful son and daughter, peace in your heart and head. I wish that they know the depths of love that brought them into this world and I wish it sustains them going forward. I wish the world would understand the closeness of a wish and a prayer… I believe God answers prayers and that God uses people to grant wishes... I pray that God answers my prayers and will help me understand why I can’t have what I truly wish for… I believe when the time is right he will…
I hope so…
Merry Christmas…
To almost everyone who either knows me or follows this blog, my answer is seemingly obvious. As quickly as I thought of my wish, I thought about why maybe that wasn’t really what my wish would or should be. I’ve wished for many things in my life. I have been blessed with the granting of many of those wishes. But what was granted wasn’t always what I thought I had wished for. Sometimes it was better. Sometimes it was very different but turned out to be what I should have wished for in the first place. And sometimes I received what I needed more, when the wish wasn’t granted.
As a kid, it was a fabulous day, that day, every December; when the mailman brought the big Sears “Wish Book”. My brother and sisters and I would get a pen or marker and start circling anything and everything we thought was wanted or needed from the back of the big catalog. The life sized dolls. The doll houses, the roller skates and on and on. There were fights about whose turn it was to view the book, who had it too long. My poor parents. As I think back, I never really remember ever getting anything from those wish books. I don’t know that my parents ever even went through the motions of pretending to take note of the items circled… but on Christmas morning, it didn’t matter. The gifts we were given were always more than we expected and in their own way, the gift we should have wished for. All my childhood Christmas morning memories are wonderful and cherished.
One year, I wished for a Dance-a-rina doll. I wished harder than I had ever wished before for the 3 foot, ballet dancing, toe shoe wearing, big bad hair like a 1st runner up in a Miss Alabama beauty pageant, doll. If you manipulated the plastic crown on her head, after inserting 12 D cell batteries in her back, she could twirl around on her toes. Very cool. She was the hot item that year, a sure sign I wasn’t getting her. I hinted, cut out magazine ads, annoyingly sang the jingle at every opportunity but knew my parents well enough to know the chances of that 3 foot blond bombshell being my gift were slim to none. But like Ralphie and his Red Ryder Carbine Action BB Gun, I just had to keep wishing. As the day got closer, nothing even remotely sized or shaped like Dance-a-rina had been brought into the house. I don’t remember if my excitement began to fade or my stress level rose as time began to run out. One evening, my mom asked me to run out to the car and get her cigarettes. Ok, it was the early 70’s, you sent your kids to get stuff like that and, hold on... kids were sent to get the parent’s drinks as well. I do owe the fact that I make one hell of a fine martini (3 olives please) to the misguidance of parents that didn’t believe asking an 8 year old to mix a cocktail may not be the best developmental or age appropriate task. Anyway, as I pushed open the screen door, Mom yelled that they were in the back seat… who the heck leaves their cigarettes in the back seat? Weirdo. As I looked in to the back, all I saw was a pile of dry cleaning, no cigarettes. I knew if I went back in to that house without those darn cigarettes, my mom would be very upset. So I jumped in the back and dove into the pile of dry cleaning. As I crashed in to the pile… I lost my breath. Could it, no wait, yes... This was it!!! My wish, it had come true! But wait, was I supposed to find this or was this cruel trick? For many years my parents hid a neighbor’s kid’s Hanukah gifts at our house… oh God please don’t let this be one of those years… but I’ll admit, I didn’t know if I should scoop up the box and run gleefully in or if I should wipe the smile off my face and casually saunter back in the house like my world had not just collided with a parallel universe in the back seat of a Ford Fairlane…. So I grabbed the box and although it looked different than the box on TV, it was my Dance-a-rina and she belonged in the house. My mom and dad were standing at the door as I brought her in. Funny but they didn’t have the look I had come to expect. Usually when they had busted their bottoms to get one of us something special, they had a glow, an excitement to their face. So why did they look downright scared? No time to worry about them. My Dance-a-rina needed to be unpacked, batteries inserted and she needed to dance. As I began the slow tender process of getting her out of the box, it dawned on me… why wasn’t anyone offering to help me? Why was everyone watching so intently as I struggled with the box? Once I got the box open, I understood. I understood the look on my parent’s face, the need for my brother and sisters to stand aside and the reason why the box was somewhat different than the one on the Saturday morning commercials. This Dance-a-rina was, as we said back then…. Black. The room was so very still as everyone watch for my reaction. Would I accept this as the Dance-a-rina I was meant to have or would some terrible prejudice enter in to my 10 year old world? As I yelled “she’s so beautiful” a collective sigh of relief went through the entire house. The back story is that my parents literally went to every conceivable store to get this doll. At one point they relied on information from a fellow Dance-a-rina hunter who had heard about a truck load of the doll coming to a certain store. My parents made the trek and once got there were thrilled to learn that yes they had the doll. Yes they had the doll but only in the African American version. I’m pretty proud that my parents had enough faith in me and wanted so desperately to fulfill my wish that while I’m sure they were nervous, they took the leap of faith and made the purchase.
When my late husband and I had our children, we did, as my parents had, try to do all possible to make their wishes come true. We worked more than one job, worked opposite shifts, went without. Was all this hard, you bet. But it was so worth all the long hours, sore feet, sleep deprivation and the lack of extra funds to produce the great people I proudly call my kids. My kids didn’t get all they wished for, I don’t think anyone should. But the wishes that were granted and those they weren’t, helped make them who they are today.
The holidays have always been a time of giving back for my family. As a kid we always worked on projects that had us helping our community. As an adult I have been blessed to take part in some amazingly huge wish granting programs. My previous career was with a major corporation and every year the company would grant wishes for children who were part of the DCFS system. I always dreaded the day when we received the lists from thousand of kids along with their wishes. We had to do some organizing of lists and set up how they would be distributed throughout the company. Employees would come and grab a stack of wish letters and read through them until they found the one they wanted to grant. I believe there was a two week turn time between getting the wish and returning the item or items for distribution. In all the years I was involved, we were so fortunate to grant an average of 5000 wishes each and every year. The wishes were for everything from underwear to bikes. How sad to make your one shot at a really big wish, be for underwear. Think of all the times your parents got you socks for Christmas, how did you feel? Did you ever really have to wish for a pair of tightie-whities? Sadly many kids wished for items for their mom or dad. Some even wished for food. I always loved that my kids actively participated in this event. I still get goose bumps thinking about the huge trucks being loaded with the mass quantities of gifts, wishes now fulfilled. DCFS never anticipated the care and compassion of my fellow employees. The generosity was overwhelming. If a kid asked for a bike… he got the Cadillac of bikes. We were always allotted one 18 wheeler… most years we had to hire an additional 3 or 4 trucks to take everything to the agency. The sense of pride that comes along with giving back is indescribable. In many ways, my family was not the norm in our wish granting or our desire to give back. We also gave of our time and talents as well. I always wondered why some believe that you can only give items or money to make a difference in this world. Your time has an amazing value, as do your talents. Until we moved back to this area we had always participated in a huge day of service held every June. Thousands of folks gathered together to join in and paint the schools in this major Midwest town. Some years our kids joined us, but most years it was just my husband and I. I’ll always remember quite fondly the year we realized this event would take place on our 25th wedding anniversary. We never considered not attending. What better way to celebrate our accomplishment then by assisting in the painting of over 200 schools. We agreed that this was our way of, together giving back. As I write this, I’m so fondly reminded of walking in to the classroom he was painting, I had been painting the hall. On the far wall in the most obnoxious pink paint was written… “I love you more this minute than ever before… I can’t wait to see how I feel in an hour, 25 years… piece of cake! Let’s go for 25 more”. I couldn’t wish for anything more…
So, what is my Christmas wish? Of course I wish you all whatever your heart most desires. I wish all the babies recently born into my world or those just about to introduce themselves, all the love they need, all the happiness they can hold and all the best of everything. My wish for the new parents is simple, breath, trust, love and laugh. I wish for my family and friends to know all that they mean to me. I wish them to know my love for them deepens every day. I wish for my wonderful son and daughter, peace in your heart and head. I wish that they know the depths of love that brought them into this world and I wish it sustains them going forward. I wish the world would understand the closeness of a wish and a prayer… I believe God answers prayers and that God uses people to grant wishes... I pray that God answers my prayers and will help me understand why I can’t have what I truly wish for… I believe when the time is right he will…
I hope so…
Merry Christmas…
Friday, December 11, 2009
Friday 12/11/2009 snow
This week my little neck of the woods saw its first measureable snow. Well at least I think we did. I left work much later than normal and as I walked to my car big fluffy flakes began to fall. It was crisp and cold and just the kind of night you would much rather be in front of a fireplace, snuggled up with someone special. I was getting into a cold car with only the prospect of snuggling up to my getting-bigger-every-second puppy. Ok I’ll admit she’s soft and warm and a pretty good snuggler but some of her ill timed nips really catch me off guard and yowza they hurt. Because she’s been in her crate for a few hours she needs to be played with as soon as I get home in order for her to be ready to climb in bed with me when I get sleepy. So the cuddle in front of the fireplace isn’t gonna happen anytime soon. Anyway, as I drove home the snow was getting ridiculously thick and it looked as if it had been snowing for hours. The roads were a mess and I was getting scared. I couldn’t see any ruts in the snow that I could follow and the snow was falling and blowing at me making it very hard to drive. Once I got off the main highway, it seemed to let up just a bit to ease many of my fears. Given how tired I was and I guess I would add stressed, both from the long day at work and the drive… my thoughts began to turn to snow storms in the past.
I've always loved a snow storm. I grew up in the Great Lakes region and learned 2 very important weather terms very early in life: Lake effect snow and wind chill factor. I lived where both terms could be jubilation or sorrow. Jubilation as the lake effect snow dumped and extra 6, 8 or 10 inches of snow causing schools to close and sorrow as it wasn’t until I think I was in high school that the powers that be understood that kids should not stand outside waiting for a school bus when it’s -70 wind chill. I can still feel that spine snapping, throat tightening zap of cold, those mornings brought. I was most fortunate to have survived the blizzards of 1979. I had planned to graduate a semester early from High School. Nope, not that I was a wiz kid or anything like that… it was pure self preservation. I loved high school… not the classes, not the learning; nope I loved the socializing… I knew that if I had a reduced schedule for the 2nd semester, more free time during the school day, I would really mess it up and possibly not graduate. So I’d love to say at this point that I buckled down and worked my ass off but, not so much. As the holidays approached, I somehow kept forgetting to go to class. I don’t really remember why but suddenly there was a letter home saying that because I ditched class I was being given 3 days of in-school suspension. Ok so what sense does that make? I hated Ms. Ienichner’s class so I ditched and then as punishment... I don’t “get” to go to her class for the 3 days before Thanksgiving. Oh darn! That really hurt. The cool thing was I had 6 hours each day to catch up on all the stuff I was falling behind in. I kept the pace up until the Christmas holiday break. I knew if I could skate through the 3 weeks after the holidays, I’d make it and graduate. We were slated to go back to school the first Monday of the New Year. However on Sunday we had the first of 2 or 3 major snow storms. Some crazy number of inches fell in record time. It was the wet heavy snow that causes all types of problem. The cleanup was slow, schools was closed for Monday and Tuesday. By Tuesday evening we were being hit with round 2 and schools were closed for the week. Friday the cleanup was progressing nicely until the next storm dumped 20 new inches of snow on top of the already dangerous amount on the ground. School was closed for a second week. But lightning didn’t strike a 3rd time and we went back to school for what should have been finals week. We were supposed to take our finals and then graduate the following Sunday. It was decided that finals for the general students were delayed 2 weeks. But they could not delay graduation. Some kids were registered for collage classes beginning the next week. So we were told to go discuss with our teachers our grades or what had to be completed to get a final grade. Bonus!!! I could so talk my way to graduation... and in some cases I did. Then came the wrinkle… I had never actually finished Freshman Biology and it had slipped through the cracks. I met with Mr. Oak… Mr. Oak was one of those guys that wanted you to think he was a jerk but in truth was a great guy who loved his wife, his kids and teaching. He told me I had to take the final the next morning and in order to pass the class; I basically had to get an A. I studied so hard but knew the odds were stacked against me. But I showed up bright and early. Mr. Oak approached me with a huge stack of papers. The room was set up with stations of slides and fetal pigs and other never needed in my lifetime before or since biology crap. I took my seat; Mr. Oak actually offered me a cup of coffee. It was meant as a reassuring gesture but it scared the heck out of me… He handed me the test packet and said to only turn it over when I was told to and he left the room. My head was spinning. I was supposed to give the benediction at graduation. I hadn’t started writing it and now I thought that might be a sign. I thought it was a sign that maybe I couldn’t write it because I knew deep down I wouldn’t be there to present it. After an eternity, Mr. Oak came back in the room. Turn the test over he said in his quirky voice…. Shaking, I turned it over… in big bold letters it said… Spell the word BIOLOGY. There was a #1 and a line for my answer. I wrote B-I-O-L-O-G-Y and turned the page. Nothing... not on that page or any of the other 15 pages. On the 16th page in Mr. Oak’s block penmanship it said... “You got an A... now go out and do the best you can to have a fabulous life”. I so clearly remember he walked over to me, kissed my cheek and said “good luck”. My heart was bursting, not because I had passed but because for one of the first times in my life I understood what it meant to truly enjoy, the joy of others. I knew how good he felt and that made me want to have that feeling too. In that moment I also knew just what I was going to say for the benediction. It took me about 15 minutes to write and a second to get the approval from Dr. Hoffman the Administrator. I’ve had this happen again recently. I had decided to do my husband’s eulogy. I felt I was the one who knew him best and it was my duty. I decided this very early Saturday morning after he had died just hours before. I had no idea if this was the proper thing to do or what I should say. I called the folks at the Pastoral care office at the hospital. They had been so kind. They gave great tips and provided some pointers that came in handy. But I still didn’t know what to write. I thought about it all day Saturday and Sunday… I couldn’t come up with anything. This was a rich, full and wonderful life my husband had shared with me and I couldn’t get a thought together to honor him. The service was scheduled for Tuesday. By Monday evening I was drained and couldn’t think clearly. I was so tired and sad and if I’m being honest, lost. I was about to let many people down, least of all was myself. I was feeling overwhelmed and decided I needed air. My house was so full of people who loved him and I needed to breathe and not talk about the past 4 days or the past 30 years. As I stood at the front door, the police officer who was with me as they tried to save my husband came around the garage. I was so relieved that he was there. I didn’t know why until later but for having just met this young man a few days before, I felt deeply connected to him. He was the only person in the world I didn’t have to explain to what had happened. As he came in I hugged him and felt myself exhale. We chatted and he met some of my family. I thanked him again and I will continue to thanks him as time goes on. He said something to me about me being awesome and if there was anything I needed, I actually don’t remember. What I do remember was that I got the same feeling I had years before on that most snowy day, with Mr. Oak. I had the feeling that this young cop knew he had made a difference when he was with me that terrible morning and he was proud to do it. As we said good bye with the promise of talking again I knew what I had to do… I had to honor the man I loved so deeply for so long by telling the world all the wonderful things about him they may not know. The journey we had taken together would be the cornerstone of his eulogy. I knew then that like Mr. Oak, my husband had taught me to bring out the joy in those around me. Like the young officer, my husband showed me how to care for someone I really didn’t even know but immediately connected with. What I had agonized over for 4 days… took about 20 minutes to write. I was proud of what I was able to express. I was able to open up avenues for others at the service to piggyback on and say what was in their hearts to say about him.
So I arrived home on that snowy night earlier this week and let my puppy out. She looked back at me as she stepped into the wet snow, possibly looking for some explanation. The she got excited and started jumping and playing and sliding. At one point she slid off the end of the deck and looked up at me as if I had done something to cause her to end up on her back. We played for a bit and went to bed. Very early the next morning she needed to go back outside, nature calls. As I opened the door… no snow? It was 43 degrees and there was no trace of the snow we had played in just a few hours before. For a moment I thought I was dreaming. But as the weather is here, I should not have been surprised. My pup was a bit disappointed. But she will learn that there will be storms of all kind that come in to and out of her life. Just as I have learned so completely that there are people who come into and go out of our lives. Some hang out for awhile… some leave before you are ready. I hope I give joy to those I meet and I take joy from our meeting. I think if I can do that more than not… I’ll be just fine.
I hope so…
I've always loved a snow storm. I grew up in the Great Lakes region and learned 2 very important weather terms very early in life: Lake effect snow and wind chill factor. I lived where both terms could be jubilation or sorrow. Jubilation as the lake effect snow dumped and extra 6, 8 or 10 inches of snow causing schools to close and sorrow as it wasn’t until I think I was in high school that the powers that be understood that kids should not stand outside waiting for a school bus when it’s -70 wind chill. I can still feel that spine snapping, throat tightening zap of cold, those mornings brought. I was most fortunate to have survived the blizzards of 1979. I had planned to graduate a semester early from High School. Nope, not that I was a wiz kid or anything like that… it was pure self preservation. I loved high school… not the classes, not the learning; nope I loved the socializing… I knew that if I had a reduced schedule for the 2nd semester, more free time during the school day, I would really mess it up and possibly not graduate. So I’d love to say at this point that I buckled down and worked my ass off but, not so much. As the holidays approached, I somehow kept forgetting to go to class. I don’t really remember why but suddenly there was a letter home saying that because I ditched class I was being given 3 days of in-school suspension. Ok so what sense does that make? I hated Ms. Ienichner’s class so I ditched and then as punishment... I don’t “get” to go to her class for the 3 days before Thanksgiving. Oh darn! That really hurt. The cool thing was I had 6 hours each day to catch up on all the stuff I was falling behind in. I kept the pace up until the Christmas holiday break. I knew if I could skate through the 3 weeks after the holidays, I’d make it and graduate. We were slated to go back to school the first Monday of the New Year. However on Sunday we had the first of 2 or 3 major snow storms. Some crazy number of inches fell in record time. It was the wet heavy snow that causes all types of problem. The cleanup was slow, schools was closed for Monday and Tuesday. By Tuesday evening we were being hit with round 2 and schools were closed for the week. Friday the cleanup was progressing nicely until the next storm dumped 20 new inches of snow on top of the already dangerous amount on the ground. School was closed for a second week. But lightning didn’t strike a 3rd time and we went back to school for what should have been finals week. We were supposed to take our finals and then graduate the following Sunday. It was decided that finals for the general students were delayed 2 weeks. But they could not delay graduation. Some kids were registered for collage classes beginning the next week. So we were told to go discuss with our teachers our grades or what had to be completed to get a final grade. Bonus!!! I could so talk my way to graduation... and in some cases I did. Then came the wrinkle… I had never actually finished Freshman Biology and it had slipped through the cracks. I met with Mr. Oak… Mr. Oak was one of those guys that wanted you to think he was a jerk but in truth was a great guy who loved his wife, his kids and teaching. He told me I had to take the final the next morning and in order to pass the class; I basically had to get an A. I studied so hard but knew the odds were stacked against me. But I showed up bright and early. Mr. Oak approached me with a huge stack of papers. The room was set up with stations of slides and fetal pigs and other never needed in my lifetime before or since biology crap. I took my seat; Mr. Oak actually offered me a cup of coffee. It was meant as a reassuring gesture but it scared the heck out of me… He handed me the test packet and said to only turn it over when I was told to and he left the room. My head was spinning. I was supposed to give the benediction at graduation. I hadn’t started writing it and now I thought that might be a sign. I thought it was a sign that maybe I couldn’t write it because I knew deep down I wouldn’t be there to present it. After an eternity, Mr. Oak came back in the room. Turn the test over he said in his quirky voice…. Shaking, I turned it over… in big bold letters it said… Spell the word BIOLOGY. There was a #1 and a line for my answer. I wrote B-I-O-L-O-G-Y and turned the page. Nothing... not on that page or any of the other 15 pages. On the 16th page in Mr. Oak’s block penmanship it said... “You got an A... now go out and do the best you can to have a fabulous life”. I so clearly remember he walked over to me, kissed my cheek and said “good luck”. My heart was bursting, not because I had passed but because for one of the first times in my life I understood what it meant to truly enjoy, the joy of others. I knew how good he felt and that made me want to have that feeling too. In that moment I also knew just what I was going to say for the benediction. It took me about 15 minutes to write and a second to get the approval from Dr. Hoffman the Administrator. I’ve had this happen again recently. I had decided to do my husband’s eulogy. I felt I was the one who knew him best and it was my duty. I decided this very early Saturday morning after he had died just hours before. I had no idea if this was the proper thing to do or what I should say. I called the folks at the Pastoral care office at the hospital. They had been so kind. They gave great tips and provided some pointers that came in handy. But I still didn’t know what to write. I thought about it all day Saturday and Sunday… I couldn’t come up with anything. This was a rich, full and wonderful life my husband had shared with me and I couldn’t get a thought together to honor him. The service was scheduled for Tuesday. By Monday evening I was drained and couldn’t think clearly. I was so tired and sad and if I’m being honest, lost. I was about to let many people down, least of all was myself. I was feeling overwhelmed and decided I needed air. My house was so full of people who loved him and I needed to breathe and not talk about the past 4 days or the past 30 years. As I stood at the front door, the police officer who was with me as they tried to save my husband came around the garage. I was so relieved that he was there. I didn’t know why until later but for having just met this young man a few days before, I felt deeply connected to him. He was the only person in the world I didn’t have to explain to what had happened. As he came in I hugged him and felt myself exhale. We chatted and he met some of my family. I thanked him again and I will continue to thanks him as time goes on. He said something to me about me being awesome and if there was anything I needed, I actually don’t remember. What I do remember was that I got the same feeling I had years before on that most snowy day, with Mr. Oak. I had the feeling that this young cop knew he had made a difference when he was with me that terrible morning and he was proud to do it. As we said good bye with the promise of talking again I knew what I had to do… I had to honor the man I loved so deeply for so long by telling the world all the wonderful things about him they may not know. The journey we had taken together would be the cornerstone of his eulogy. I knew then that like Mr. Oak, my husband had taught me to bring out the joy in those around me. Like the young officer, my husband showed me how to care for someone I really didn’t even know but immediately connected with. What I had agonized over for 4 days… took about 20 minutes to write. I was proud of what I was able to express. I was able to open up avenues for others at the service to piggyback on and say what was in their hearts to say about him.
So I arrived home on that snowy night earlier this week and let my puppy out. She looked back at me as she stepped into the wet snow, possibly looking for some explanation. The she got excited and started jumping and playing and sliding. At one point she slid off the end of the deck and looked up at me as if I had done something to cause her to end up on her back. We played for a bit and went to bed. Very early the next morning she needed to go back outside, nature calls. As I opened the door… no snow? It was 43 degrees and there was no trace of the snow we had played in just a few hours before. For a moment I thought I was dreaming. But as the weather is here, I should not have been surprised. My pup was a bit disappointed. But she will learn that there will be storms of all kind that come in to and out of her life. Just as I have learned so completely that there are people who come into and go out of our lives. Some hang out for awhile… some leave before you are ready. I hope I give joy to those I meet and I take joy from our meeting. I think if I can do that more than not… I’ll be just fine.
I hope so…
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Wednesday 12/2/2009 Edna
Every day I am, as anyone in my situation is I believe, faced with things or people, maybe music or even a scent that reminds me so deeply of how my life has changed. But we are all in this same predicament. We, no matter our level of loss, have things around us that stir memories. This time of year for me is especially rich with memories. My friends, the professionals as I have called them before have talked with me about the power and the curse of memories. Emotions surfacing because of the holidays or the first snow fall or any number of things can be both joyous and devastating at the time.
This past weekend my incredible and wonderful middle sister came to play. We had no plans. We decided to do some shopping. We braved IKEA and enjoyed lunch at Chilies’. As we entered one of my favorite stores, Hobby Lobby, we walked down the Christmas tree aisle. Out of the corner of my eye I saw it. The tree was 7 feet tall with pinecones, snow, berries and lights. As I stood staring, my sister commented on how beautiful it was. In the back of my mind I kept hearing a voice asking me what I was planning to do this year for a tree. There was the old artificial tree down in the basement. But could I go back to that old thing after lobbying so hard for years to go back to a real tree? Then again… a real tree… the memories…
Our first real tree was specially selected by my husband up at the family hunting camp. Our trees for many years were carefully sought out and hand cut at the end of the week at camp. He would walk around the land looking for the perfect tree. He would spot the one he thought was, the one. If it was early in the week he would call me and tell me he thought he had found the best tree ever but he wasn’t 100% sure. I knew by the excitement in his voice that he was giddy with anticipation. He was always so proud of the tree he had presented to us. We switched to artificial trees during the years we were ensconced in travel hockey. I think we had traveled on more Christmases than should be allowed. Having the fake tree made it so much easier to not have to worry about taking it down before we left. Remember, I’m a firefighter’s daughter, always concerned about the Christmas tree fire. When we moved to my current home, we once again enjoyed the luster of a real tree. Although he no longer brought our tree home from up north, we would spend a day searching our local tree farms for the tree that touched our hearts.
So there I stood. Wondering if this was what I wanted to have in my home for the holidays. My first thought was of him balking at the price. Just a small surge of power went through me. Just as quickly, the feeling of being powerless flowed. Shouldn’t I do what we had always done? I’ve heard that the more you try to make something the same as it was, before your loved one died, the more it is obviously not the same. I thank God my sister was there. I don’t know if she saw how many times I tried to walk away from the tree. How many times my eyes filled with tears. My grown up mind was telling me it was just a tree. My heart was breaking at the thought of choosing a Christmas tree by myself for the first time in my entire life. I don’t know how long I stood there but I know that my sister was kind and patient and all a big sister should be. I bought the tree. We went home and rearranged the family room to accommodate the most beautiful tree in my world. I know she would never say anything but I wonder how awkward the silence was for her. We didn’t say much as we put the tree up. Oh we talked as we moved the couch here and the table there… but when we were doing the actual tree… it was quiet. I was so afraid that if I opened my mouth to speak I would loose control. To better explain what I was feeling and thinking about... my husband and I usually did not exchange gifts at Christmas. It began years ago when money was tight. So we designed our own celebration. Late Christmas eve, after the kids were in bed, we’d finish wrapping the gifts for the kids and stuff the stockings. When everything was complete, we’d turn off all the lights, except the tree and open a bottle of Asti. We would snuggle up close by the tree and then share our gifts with each other. Our gift was to fulfill one wish, just one for each other for the entire year. I remember one year, my wish was to not be reminded about how often I stayed at work way past the end of my shift. For the next year, he worked so hard not to call me out for working too hard. I remember the year he wished that I never question his love for me. He had had a stressful year and had at times brought those stresses home. So for the next year, I stepped back during conflicts just to be sure I remembered how much I knew he loved me. We continued this tradition until just last year.
So I’ve experience another “first”. I can’t determine how I feel having crossed yet another threshold. This week will be most interesting as I have a fairly major “first” about to happen. It will be the first time in 30 years he is not here on a special day. But I’ll get up on that day and go to work. I’ll remember how special I was always made to feel on this most special day. I will be celebrating my birthday without him for the first time since I was 19. I’ve had more birthdays with him… then not. I can’t help but look back on all the fun birthdays over the years. The surprises, the quiet evenings, the dinners out and all the other ways my husband helped me celebrate. A few years ago he told me one morning that he needed to borrow my car for the day. Odd as we had exactly the same vehicles, one just one year older than the other. But I took the bait and gave him the car. I mentioned the car trade at work that day and a colleague said something like wouldn’t it be terrible if he took it to have something like an automatic car starter installed? She went on to lament about how that was the worst gift and if a guy ever gave her something like that….blah, blah, blah. I kept thinking that would be a really cool gift. Lucky me, that is exactly what he had installed on my car as a birthday gift. I was thrilled and I to this day love that he thought that much about my comfort. I also every year, on my birthday and Mother’s Day received some form of the perfume I had been wearing since I turned 21. I feel so sad thinking about this past spring. He had so recently past and I was just about out of perfume. I went to Macy’s and as I stood there it hit me. I had never purchased my own perfume. My original scent was a gift from him. I know it sounds silly to say but this was his job, not mine. He would scour the newspapers for the Estee Lauder “freebie” and then make his purchases. I can almost picture him now, charming the sales girls. But he was always so excited about giving me something we both enjoyed. I’m not sure why this just popped in to my head but years ago, when I was just about to turn 16 or 17, my mom and I were having some common variety conflicts. A few days before my birthday she kept asking me what I wanted my cake to say… I think she was trying to make conversation but I was completely annoyed. Had she not been around for the past 16 or 17 years to see what previous cakes had said? Anyway, in an effort to be a smart ass and frankly shut her up, I said, “how about happy birthday Edna”? She gave me the mother of all killer mom looks and I very quickly left the room. As we celebrated that birthday, the cake was brought to the table as those around me half heartedly sang. As I looked at the cake I saw it… “Happy Birthday Edna”. In that moment, I clicked with my mom as I never had before. To this day, she often will call me Edna. I’m sure it’s her way of re-attaching our connection. I told that story to my late husband years ago. Every year, there would be three birthday cards from him. There was the funny card, the loving card and the card addressed to Edna that would be, how can I say it…the passionate card.
I’m flooded with the warmth of these memories. I’m proud that the bitter sweet in my heart is beginning to lean more to the sweet as the bitter begins to fade ever so slightly. I plan to enjoy the day and enjoy the tree. As I’ve said before, it won’t be the same but it can be just as good. I plan not to even try to make things as they were for either my birthday or the holidays. I believe if I did and I failed either myself or my families, it would hurt even more. So I’ll channel my inner Edna and enjoy the day.
I hope so…
This past weekend my incredible and wonderful middle sister came to play. We had no plans. We decided to do some shopping. We braved IKEA and enjoyed lunch at Chilies’. As we entered one of my favorite stores, Hobby Lobby, we walked down the Christmas tree aisle. Out of the corner of my eye I saw it. The tree was 7 feet tall with pinecones, snow, berries and lights. As I stood staring, my sister commented on how beautiful it was. In the back of my mind I kept hearing a voice asking me what I was planning to do this year for a tree. There was the old artificial tree down in the basement. But could I go back to that old thing after lobbying so hard for years to go back to a real tree? Then again… a real tree… the memories…
Our first real tree was specially selected by my husband up at the family hunting camp. Our trees for many years were carefully sought out and hand cut at the end of the week at camp. He would walk around the land looking for the perfect tree. He would spot the one he thought was, the one. If it was early in the week he would call me and tell me he thought he had found the best tree ever but he wasn’t 100% sure. I knew by the excitement in his voice that he was giddy with anticipation. He was always so proud of the tree he had presented to us. We switched to artificial trees during the years we were ensconced in travel hockey. I think we had traveled on more Christmases than should be allowed. Having the fake tree made it so much easier to not have to worry about taking it down before we left. Remember, I’m a firefighter’s daughter, always concerned about the Christmas tree fire. When we moved to my current home, we once again enjoyed the luster of a real tree. Although he no longer brought our tree home from up north, we would spend a day searching our local tree farms for the tree that touched our hearts.
So there I stood. Wondering if this was what I wanted to have in my home for the holidays. My first thought was of him balking at the price. Just a small surge of power went through me. Just as quickly, the feeling of being powerless flowed. Shouldn’t I do what we had always done? I’ve heard that the more you try to make something the same as it was, before your loved one died, the more it is obviously not the same. I thank God my sister was there. I don’t know if she saw how many times I tried to walk away from the tree. How many times my eyes filled with tears. My grown up mind was telling me it was just a tree. My heart was breaking at the thought of choosing a Christmas tree by myself for the first time in my entire life. I don’t know how long I stood there but I know that my sister was kind and patient and all a big sister should be. I bought the tree. We went home and rearranged the family room to accommodate the most beautiful tree in my world. I know she would never say anything but I wonder how awkward the silence was for her. We didn’t say much as we put the tree up. Oh we talked as we moved the couch here and the table there… but when we were doing the actual tree… it was quiet. I was so afraid that if I opened my mouth to speak I would loose control. To better explain what I was feeling and thinking about... my husband and I usually did not exchange gifts at Christmas. It began years ago when money was tight. So we designed our own celebration. Late Christmas eve, after the kids were in bed, we’d finish wrapping the gifts for the kids and stuff the stockings. When everything was complete, we’d turn off all the lights, except the tree and open a bottle of Asti. We would snuggle up close by the tree and then share our gifts with each other. Our gift was to fulfill one wish, just one for each other for the entire year. I remember one year, my wish was to not be reminded about how often I stayed at work way past the end of my shift. For the next year, he worked so hard not to call me out for working too hard. I remember the year he wished that I never question his love for me. He had had a stressful year and had at times brought those stresses home. So for the next year, I stepped back during conflicts just to be sure I remembered how much I knew he loved me. We continued this tradition until just last year.
So I’ve experience another “first”. I can’t determine how I feel having crossed yet another threshold. This week will be most interesting as I have a fairly major “first” about to happen. It will be the first time in 30 years he is not here on a special day. But I’ll get up on that day and go to work. I’ll remember how special I was always made to feel on this most special day. I will be celebrating my birthday without him for the first time since I was 19. I’ve had more birthdays with him… then not. I can’t help but look back on all the fun birthdays over the years. The surprises, the quiet evenings, the dinners out and all the other ways my husband helped me celebrate. A few years ago he told me one morning that he needed to borrow my car for the day. Odd as we had exactly the same vehicles, one just one year older than the other. But I took the bait and gave him the car. I mentioned the car trade at work that day and a colleague said something like wouldn’t it be terrible if he took it to have something like an automatic car starter installed? She went on to lament about how that was the worst gift and if a guy ever gave her something like that….blah, blah, blah. I kept thinking that would be a really cool gift. Lucky me, that is exactly what he had installed on my car as a birthday gift. I was thrilled and I to this day love that he thought that much about my comfort. I also every year, on my birthday and Mother’s Day received some form of the perfume I had been wearing since I turned 21. I feel so sad thinking about this past spring. He had so recently past and I was just about out of perfume. I went to Macy’s and as I stood there it hit me. I had never purchased my own perfume. My original scent was a gift from him. I know it sounds silly to say but this was his job, not mine. He would scour the newspapers for the Estee Lauder “freebie” and then make his purchases. I can almost picture him now, charming the sales girls. But he was always so excited about giving me something we both enjoyed. I’m not sure why this just popped in to my head but years ago, when I was just about to turn 16 or 17, my mom and I were having some common variety conflicts. A few days before my birthday she kept asking me what I wanted my cake to say… I think she was trying to make conversation but I was completely annoyed. Had she not been around for the past 16 or 17 years to see what previous cakes had said? Anyway, in an effort to be a smart ass and frankly shut her up, I said, “how about happy birthday Edna”? She gave me the mother of all killer mom looks and I very quickly left the room. As we celebrated that birthday, the cake was brought to the table as those around me half heartedly sang. As I looked at the cake I saw it… “Happy Birthday Edna”. In that moment, I clicked with my mom as I never had before. To this day, she often will call me Edna. I’m sure it’s her way of re-attaching our connection. I told that story to my late husband years ago. Every year, there would be three birthday cards from him. There was the funny card, the loving card and the card addressed to Edna that would be, how can I say it…the passionate card.
I’m flooded with the warmth of these memories. I’m proud that the bitter sweet in my heart is beginning to lean more to the sweet as the bitter begins to fade ever so slightly. I plan to enjoy the day and enjoy the tree. As I’ve said before, it won’t be the same but it can be just as good. I plan not to even try to make things as they were for either my birthday or the holidays. I believe if I did and I failed either myself or my families, it would hurt even more. So I’ll channel my inner Edna and enjoy the day.
I hope so…
Friday, November 27, 2009
Friday 11/27/2009 Thanksgiving
I would suspect that most of you are expecting some type of Thanksgiving piece from me. Actually, I am expecting it from myself. I expect it, but have no idea what it should be about. I guess I could write about all the things I’m thankful for and believe me there is so much... But I’m not sure I’m at the place yet where it doesn’t sound contrite or self serving. I’ve thanked many people in these blogs and I do understand that I need to continue to thank them again and again. That is the right thing to do but it is also what I feel deep in my heart I must do.
So we all know the Thanksgiving stories… the Indians, oops… Native Americans and the Pilgrims, sorry …displaced illegal residents, turkeys, friendship and football all gathering together to express their thanks for all they have. Gosh I hope people don’t wait until this particular day to tell those they love about all the wonderful things they are thankful for. It would be as sad as waiting until Valentine’s Day to tell the people you love how very much you love them.
Growing up we usually went to my aunt’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. It was ridiculous. My parents are both from good catholic stock and many of their siblings really took the “be fruitful and multiply” thing to the extreme. If my dad’s whole side of the family attended this wonderful dinner, there would be 47 people. That breaks down as the original parents, my dad and his siblings, spouse’s and then all those kids… 30 if I’m counting right. We had the required kid’s table and I’m not sure I ever graduated from there. Actually, now that I think about it, I was more towards the end of the mass procreation cycle. I always found it funny that my aunt finally had that much needed addition put on her house, after the big holiday meals were disseminated to smaller individual family gatherings. But those were great times filled with so much love and laughter. For as silly and goofy as we all were and for how different our families functioned in private, these celebrations were golden moments. Whether I was oblivious or in fact it never happened, there never seemed to be family squabbles or fights at the holidays. I’m thinking today about recent news items that have families having issues during this time of year and taking matters to the extreme. If we ever did have this type of conflict, I think my family’s best revenge was making everyone attend the Christmas meal together and then Easter and so on. That’ll teach ‘em! The food was always great, abundant and really bad for our hearts. Then again, there weren’t heart health warning posted on every food item and we all have seemed to survive. There were the years we were given a little wine with dinner, yep kids too. Was it because they wanted us to feel grown up and sophisticated? Was it so we could appreciate the blessings and toasts more completely? Or was it simply their way of mellowing out the kids so we didn’t fuss and fight? I’m pretty sure I’ll never get a completely honest answer, but it’s a very fond memory. When I was a senior in high school, we had a wild Thanksgiving weekend. My oldest sister was getting married on December 23rd. She was living on the east coast, training for her new grown-up job. Given the practice in those days, she didn’t hop on a plane every weekend to take care of the planning and the festivities. The long Thanksgiving weekend was set aside to not only wrap up the planning, mail the invitations, find bridesmaids dresses for my other sister and I, but we were to also attend 2 wedding showers. One was Friday night, the other a luncheon on Saturday. It was hectic and crazy but in my memory, fun and fabulous. I just so clearly remember thinking I couldn’t wait to get married… all the fuss, all the gifts… my kind of fun! I also remember thinking how far that was in the future. I was dating a guy, well 2; actually I think it was 3 but, whatever. There was no way I would be in this situation for years. In fact, just a year later, give or take a few weeks, I was engaged. How funny is life I ask you? I find it so ironic that my middle sister was probably thinking the same thing… and she was married roughly 8 months later. Hey when the girls in my family know they’ve found what makes them happy, loved and complete, they jump in and grab with both hands. We tend to hold on for the long haul. There was a bit of friction that weekend, just brother/sister sister/sister stuff and nothing to cause concern. We were just all growing up so fast, wanting to be heard and validated. Our little family world was changing faster than we expected. Most importantly we each wanted to be valued. But we were no longer little kids you could hand a coloring book to or give a new board game to and ask that they sit quietly and play. We were the children of 2 really wonderful and unique parents. They say that as each child is brought in to the world, then brought in to the family, they have a different set of parents than the child before or after. I thought this to be a really stupid thing to say. But it’s so true. I think of myself with my daughter. What did I know about being a mom? Who was I kidding? Certainly not her. But when my son came along, I was just that little bit more grown up, more comfortable with myself that I know I mothered him differently and maybe for the first few months, better. So as with me, my parents were the same way. My brother was born when my mom was a relatively young wife. By the time I came along, 3 kids later, she had more knowledge, was a few years older, and knew herself more completely. I would say the same for my dad. He had by then understood more about what he needed to bring to the table to not only meet the needs of his wife and children, but to meet his own needs. I treasure the fact that my husband learned from his own life growing up what he wanted for himself and his children. I didn’t include myself in that statement because that took some time for him to understand what I needed from him. Some of it was because I didn’t tell him but much was because he had a different dynamic in his home. His father passed away when he was a young boy. My mother in law, as the sole breadwinner, worked harder than almost any woman I have ever known. She didn’t have a mate to hold her at the end of the long day. No one at that time was concerned about what made her happy or sad or frightened. She, to my understanding didn’t let her kids know that she needed any of these things either. Back then, a mom didn’t discuss things like that with her children. My husband grew up thinking she was fine, just because she was the mom. I feel so blessed that I was able to spend really good time with her before she died years ago. The stories she told were fabulous and some so out of the character my husband believed her to be, that I never shared them with him. I certainly miss her. I feel so very fortunate that I have both my parents still here to tell their stories. But the Thanksgiving of 1978 was the last Thanksgiving we were all together in the house we all grew up in. Many moves, marriages, babies, divorces and deaths have happened since that weekend. All making us stronger in both mind and spirit.
So now it’s the weekend of Thanksgiving, again. So much has changed. So much is the same. I am still loved by a wild, wonderful Mom and an equally incredible Dad, an amazing brother and 2 indescribable sisters. My circle of love has continued to grown in both membership and substance. I pray that I love more than I am loved. My kids and I jumped though some major obstacles to be together for the holiday. I think we just needed to be close, allowing the ability for a hug or smile, maybe just the brush of a hand, a touch on the back. Flights were canceled, missed, rescheduled in order to get them home to me. I feel selfish wanting them near. As I saw my son walking toward me yesterday when we met up at Ford Field, he was his dad. The same semi crooked smile I fell so deeply in love with was walking toward me. I was caught a bit off guard. The hug was the same as the great hugs his dad gave too. What other wonderful qualities will I come to discover he has from his dad that I may have over looked? Only time will tell. As my daughter came bouncing down the steps to our seats for the Lion’s game, the stadium felt like all the air had been sucked up and the lighting brightened just a bit more… just like her father, she brightens the space she comes into while she takes up all the oxygen in the room. Her joy or angst is proudly worn on her sleeve, just like her dad. I have always been keenly aware of the millions of ways she is like her dad. I know as a mom I should be proud, yet I am over the moon with pride. I love these 2 creatures much more than life itself. We sat down last evening for a meal and had a chat. We talked about what we needed from each other, what we could give each other. We talked about how we miss him. I believe this will be a discussion we have many, many times throughout our lives.
So, what am I thankful for? I could go on and on. But I’m thankful that there are people in my life who love me. People in my life who love my kids. People who loved my husband and still wish to love me even though he is gone. I’m thankful for my husband and all that that allows. I’m thankful for old friends. I’m thankful for new friends. I’m thankful for friends who comfort me but ask that I comfort them as well. I am deeply thankful for unlikely friendships. I am so thankful for my family, all my family. I am thankful to God for allowing me to have 2 amazing kids. I am thankful to my kids, for all they have done and continue to do for me every minute of every day. And finally, I am thankful to all of you who have enriched my life in such an amazing variety of ways this year. I am truly humbled by your love and I thank you. Someday, when the time is right, I hope you can say the same about me.
I hope so…
So we all know the Thanksgiving stories… the Indians, oops… Native Americans and the Pilgrims, sorry …displaced illegal residents, turkeys, friendship and football all gathering together to express their thanks for all they have. Gosh I hope people don’t wait until this particular day to tell those they love about all the wonderful things they are thankful for. It would be as sad as waiting until Valentine’s Day to tell the people you love how very much you love them.
Growing up we usually went to my aunt’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. It was ridiculous. My parents are both from good catholic stock and many of their siblings really took the “be fruitful and multiply” thing to the extreme. If my dad’s whole side of the family attended this wonderful dinner, there would be 47 people. That breaks down as the original parents, my dad and his siblings, spouse’s and then all those kids… 30 if I’m counting right. We had the required kid’s table and I’m not sure I ever graduated from there. Actually, now that I think about it, I was more towards the end of the mass procreation cycle. I always found it funny that my aunt finally had that much needed addition put on her house, after the big holiday meals were disseminated to smaller individual family gatherings. But those were great times filled with so much love and laughter. For as silly and goofy as we all were and for how different our families functioned in private, these celebrations were golden moments. Whether I was oblivious or in fact it never happened, there never seemed to be family squabbles or fights at the holidays. I’m thinking today about recent news items that have families having issues during this time of year and taking matters to the extreme. If we ever did have this type of conflict, I think my family’s best revenge was making everyone attend the Christmas meal together and then Easter and so on. That’ll teach ‘em! The food was always great, abundant and really bad for our hearts. Then again, there weren’t heart health warning posted on every food item and we all have seemed to survive. There were the years we were given a little wine with dinner, yep kids too. Was it because they wanted us to feel grown up and sophisticated? Was it so we could appreciate the blessings and toasts more completely? Or was it simply their way of mellowing out the kids so we didn’t fuss and fight? I’m pretty sure I’ll never get a completely honest answer, but it’s a very fond memory. When I was a senior in high school, we had a wild Thanksgiving weekend. My oldest sister was getting married on December 23rd. She was living on the east coast, training for her new grown-up job. Given the practice in those days, she didn’t hop on a plane every weekend to take care of the planning and the festivities. The long Thanksgiving weekend was set aside to not only wrap up the planning, mail the invitations, find bridesmaids dresses for my other sister and I, but we were to also attend 2 wedding showers. One was Friday night, the other a luncheon on Saturday. It was hectic and crazy but in my memory, fun and fabulous. I just so clearly remember thinking I couldn’t wait to get married… all the fuss, all the gifts… my kind of fun! I also remember thinking how far that was in the future. I was dating a guy, well 2; actually I think it was 3 but, whatever. There was no way I would be in this situation for years. In fact, just a year later, give or take a few weeks, I was engaged. How funny is life I ask you? I find it so ironic that my middle sister was probably thinking the same thing… and she was married roughly 8 months later. Hey when the girls in my family know they’ve found what makes them happy, loved and complete, they jump in and grab with both hands. We tend to hold on for the long haul. There was a bit of friction that weekend, just brother/sister sister/sister stuff and nothing to cause concern. We were just all growing up so fast, wanting to be heard and validated. Our little family world was changing faster than we expected. Most importantly we each wanted to be valued. But we were no longer little kids you could hand a coloring book to or give a new board game to and ask that they sit quietly and play. We were the children of 2 really wonderful and unique parents. They say that as each child is brought in to the world, then brought in to the family, they have a different set of parents than the child before or after. I thought this to be a really stupid thing to say. But it’s so true. I think of myself with my daughter. What did I know about being a mom? Who was I kidding? Certainly not her. But when my son came along, I was just that little bit more grown up, more comfortable with myself that I know I mothered him differently and maybe for the first few months, better. So as with me, my parents were the same way. My brother was born when my mom was a relatively young wife. By the time I came along, 3 kids later, she had more knowledge, was a few years older, and knew herself more completely. I would say the same for my dad. He had by then understood more about what he needed to bring to the table to not only meet the needs of his wife and children, but to meet his own needs. I treasure the fact that my husband learned from his own life growing up what he wanted for himself and his children. I didn’t include myself in that statement because that took some time for him to understand what I needed from him. Some of it was because I didn’t tell him but much was because he had a different dynamic in his home. His father passed away when he was a young boy. My mother in law, as the sole breadwinner, worked harder than almost any woman I have ever known. She didn’t have a mate to hold her at the end of the long day. No one at that time was concerned about what made her happy or sad or frightened. She, to my understanding didn’t let her kids know that she needed any of these things either. Back then, a mom didn’t discuss things like that with her children. My husband grew up thinking she was fine, just because she was the mom. I feel so blessed that I was able to spend really good time with her before she died years ago. The stories she told were fabulous and some so out of the character my husband believed her to be, that I never shared them with him. I certainly miss her. I feel so very fortunate that I have both my parents still here to tell their stories. But the Thanksgiving of 1978 was the last Thanksgiving we were all together in the house we all grew up in. Many moves, marriages, babies, divorces and deaths have happened since that weekend. All making us stronger in both mind and spirit.
So now it’s the weekend of Thanksgiving, again. So much has changed. So much is the same. I am still loved by a wild, wonderful Mom and an equally incredible Dad, an amazing brother and 2 indescribable sisters. My circle of love has continued to grown in both membership and substance. I pray that I love more than I am loved. My kids and I jumped though some major obstacles to be together for the holiday. I think we just needed to be close, allowing the ability for a hug or smile, maybe just the brush of a hand, a touch on the back. Flights were canceled, missed, rescheduled in order to get them home to me. I feel selfish wanting them near. As I saw my son walking toward me yesterday when we met up at Ford Field, he was his dad. The same semi crooked smile I fell so deeply in love with was walking toward me. I was caught a bit off guard. The hug was the same as the great hugs his dad gave too. What other wonderful qualities will I come to discover he has from his dad that I may have over looked? Only time will tell. As my daughter came bouncing down the steps to our seats for the Lion’s game, the stadium felt like all the air had been sucked up and the lighting brightened just a bit more… just like her father, she brightens the space she comes into while she takes up all the oxygen in the room. Her joy or angst is proudly worn on her sleeve, just like her dad. I have always been keenly aware of the millions of ways she is like her dad. I know as a mom I should be proud, yet I am over the moon with pride. I love these 2 creatures much more than life itself. We sat down last evening for a meal and had a chat. We talked about what we needed from each other, what we could give each other. We talked about how we miss him. I believe this will be a discussion we have many, many times throughout our lives.
So, what am I thankful for? I could go on and on. But I’m thankful that there are people in my life who love me. People in my life who love my kids. People who loved my husband and still wish to love me even though he is gone. I’m thankful for my husband and all that that allows. I’m thankful for old friends. I’m thankful for new friends. I’m thankful for friends who comfort me but ask that I comfort them as well. I am deeply thankful for unlikely friendships. I am so thankful for my family, all my family. I am thankful to God for allowing me to have 2 amazing kids. I am thankful to my kids, for all they have done and continue to do for me every minute of every day. And finally, I am thankful to all of you who have enriched my life in such an amazing variety of ways this year. I am truly humbled by your love and I thank you. Someday, when the time is right, I hope you can say the same about me.
I hope so…
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