Reverb 14, Day 1

Okay, so I never quite finished the August Moon prompts. Who knows -- perhaps I will. I think a lot of this year's prompts didn't quite hit me where I live now at the age I am, although I could see how they would be great for someone who is mid-career and thinking of changes.

But let's start again with Reverb 14,  writing prompts looking back at 2014 and ahead to 2015, and see if I can maybe stay with the program. Actually, there are two prompts I intend to respond to this year -- the talented Kat McNally's prompts, and those  from the Meredith, Kat, and Sarah at Project Reverb.

Do you remember what Reverb 14 is? You can participate, and here are some good reasons to do so. See the signup link within that post.

And here is the info on Project Reverb.

Take your choice, or do both. Either way you're going to learn something about yourself!

For December 1, the first day of the last month of 2014, this is the first prompt: What can you say right now with certainty?

Prompt 2: At the start: Where did you start 2014?  Give us some background on this year. 

What I can say right now with certainty is that I am alive and here, and reasonably able-bodied. This year I have continued to take steps to improve my health through a cardiac ablation (so far, 3+ months later, I am still normal sinus rhythm, far as I know, although a heart monitor I've worn for two weeks will confirm that -- part of the followup visit), and will have some of the hardware removed from the ankle fusion I had two years ago early in the new year because it has been painful at least some of this year and has made it difficult to walk much or well. 

It could all be better, but oh, it could be so much worse, and I am working to recover some flexibility, strength, and mobility, and to continue to practice healthy habits. What we do in our younger years comes back to us in our later ones. I didn't understand that. (I wouldn't have paid much attention anyway. At that age you think you'll live forever and be able to rebound from poor choices. Huh.)

I can say with certainty that I adore my husband and am so glad he adores me back. It just doesn't get better than that. Being in a deeply committed, loving relationship where both people want to take care of the other is more than I'd ever dreamed it would be, and I am so grateful for it, and for him. Both of us have been in other relationships: this is the real deal. This is the kind everyone wants and so rarely gets.

I can say with certainty that I like my life and who I am. I am grateful for every day, for the friends I have and cherish, for our home and land, for enough food, enough money, enough of everything. I didn't always feel this way. I continue to learn more about myself and to grow.

I can say with certainty that I am happy to be alive and learning and loving and growing, Still. Yes. At my age.

************
2014 began with my daughter making a decision to come out of a horrible, nightmarish relationship and living situation with help from health professionals who cared about her, and the county's adult protective services, and from me. She has been living by herself in a sweet little apartment with her two kitties and her money is managed by a company, not by me, which has improved significantly the time we spend together and the quality of our relationship. She no longer has a car and takes the bus or walks to where she needs to be, or she gets rides from friends and from me. She is in another relationship but he has his own place, and they seem to be good for each other. It is not all perfect, but it seems to work at least for now.

And I have learned, finally, I hope, that her life is not mine to manage. That she will make her own decisions and that the consequences of those decisions are not in any way my problem to deal with, nor can I make it mine. As a result, my stress level is significantly less. WAY less. Both of our lives are vastly improved, and I am grateful for that. Letting go is the hardest lesson I have ever had to learn. 

That situation had colored so much of last fall and winter for me, and I had worked hard to draw healthy boundaries for myself, and to allow her to deal with her living situation on her own. When she was able to ask for help, we could be there to offer it. It was a huge lesson. I am sure I'm not done yet, but I'm better.

Over those first months too, my atrial fibrillation became more frequent, and my cardiologist recommended an ablation, saying I was the 'perfect' candidate. Since my activities had been somewhat curtailed by the increase and the quality of my life had deteriorated -- in afib, I felt anxious and unwell, and the episodes tired me out -- I finally agreed. 

Clearly there is more to tell. But that's where I began this year. And I can say that my life has gotten better as the year has progressed. May that continue.

Reverb 13, Day 22: A bonus and uphill battles

The first Reverb13 prompts have come to an end, but the talented and marvelous Kat McNally has given us all a fabulous list of bonus resources. I'll be checking them out and hope to participate in several of these opportunities.

One such program is from Writing Our Way Home, the Mindful Writing Challenge. I had the great fortune to win a class from Satya Robyn and learned so much from her and my classmates. Try your hand at writing small stones -- it is not easy!

Project Reverb is still going, and here is today's prompt:
Uphill | What uphill battle did you keep fighting and fighting in 2013?  Are you going to keep fighting or let it go?  Why?

My uphill battle has been centered around handling my daughter's finances and trying to be a gatekeeper and watchdog for her best interests. Because of her illness and her life choices, this has been so hard to see and do. Her boundaries are flimsy at best and she allows people into her life to try to 'help' them, and then her own situation becomes precarious and harmful. She is intelligent and generous, but she does not seem to be able to determine who is 'good' and who is 'bad.'

After more than a year of gradually setting stronger boundaries and working hard on separating my feelings from my understanding that mine is the only life I can save, I got out of the payee responsibilities and almost instantly felt better in every way.

I expect that I will continue to battle my need to step in and 'fix' things (which is impossible) in 2014, especially when I see her making choices that are not going to turn out well for her. So far I have managed to curtail my usual lecture to a one or two sentence opinion, and sparingly at that. I fight my tendency to personalize her situation to what *I* would think and feel. I am not her. She is not me. My life is the only one I can change. 

Casting a life-long shadow: child molesters

The trial and verdict in the Jerry Sandusky case prompted a flood of memories for me, not the good kind.

Back in 1995 in Birmingham, Ala., Don Corley, a man considered by many to be a pillar of the community -- Scout leader, active church member, friend -- was convicted of child molestation and sentenced to 30 years in prison. We were members of the same church and my then-husband had worked with him on different projects involving communication and videotaping and sound. Among other church-related activities, Don led the church's Boy Scout troop, known for the number of Eagle Scouts it produced, and actively mentored the boys, including several who were from single parent households.

When he was arrested and convicted, it was a huge, horrible shock -- and in our household even more so because our daughter had not only attended school with the victims but had been close friends with at least one.

These wonderful young people had had their lives changed forever by the sick perversion of a man who preyed on boys in what was considered to be a safe place, just as Sandusky did.

Corley's victims have created a website with information about Corley and possible parole, and are devoted to making sure the man serves his entire sentence. It has a great deal of information about child molesters as well. I applaud their bravery and acknowledgement of how this crime has impacted their lives, and their work to bring awareness of the issue of child molestation.

But before that, another man (who I knew fairly well)  molested someone very close to me, also gathering his victims in what was thought of as a safe place, and threatening them with the loss of their families and friends should they tell, much as Sandusky did with at least one of his victims. I was unaware of the closest molestation until just a few years ago, although I knew about others who had been hurt when the man  was prosecuted for molesting the five-year-old daughter of friends -- others, who we knew of, did not choose to be part of that case, unfortunately. He served a very light prison sentence, released early for 'good behavior.' I now know more details  of his behavior than I wish I knew.

Like the children molested by Corley and Sandusky, these young boys and girls bear lifelong scars. Even now the memory haunts and taunts at least one victim, causing severe mental distress and vocal and physical hallucinations, despite therapy and medication.

I find it difficult to even consider forgiving such acts. While I understand it is an illness, there is no acceptable excuse  to molest children, ever.

And while the families of the perpetrators may have been blindsided and horrified, there are also always signs, looking back, that they either chose not to see or that they took pains to overlook for any number of reasons -- financial or social, for instance. They bear a different kind of responsibility and grief and remorse.

But we all have a duty to be watchful of the children we know, to listen to what they say, to teach them how to respond and to be honest, to help them understand that there are indeed bad people in their worlds but that they should not be afraid to tell a parent or a counselor or a pastor or a friend if they are being hurt.

I pray for the victims of Sandusky and Corley and the unnamed man, but I cannot bring myself to pray for those sick, twisted men, to grant them the release of forgiveness from any source. Justice in these instances will never really happen, no matter how long their prison terms.


Child abuse casts a shadow the length of a lifetime. --Herbert Ward


If I Had My Child to Raise Over Again
by Diane Loomans

If I had my child to raise all over again,
I'd build self esteem first, and the house later.
I'd fingerpaint more, and point the finger less.
I would do less correcting and more connecting.
I'd take my eyes off my watch, and watch with my eyes.
I would care to know less and know to care more.
I'd take more hikes and fly more kites.
I'd stop playing serious, and seriously play.
I would run through more fields and gaze at more stars.
I'd do more hugging and less tugging.
I'd see the oak tree in the acorn more often.
I would be firm less often, and affirm much more.
I'd model less about the love of power,
And more about the power of love.

Motherhood 101

Today is Mother's Day.

All the ads and commercials and newspaper stories pretty much picture every mother as exemplary: one who loves her children (and grandchildren) unconditionally, bakes homemade cookies regularly, knits, sews, or crafts cute things for said children, always volunteers for school and community organizations, is fashionable and slim with perfect hair and skin, and who always, always is even-tempered, would never dream of smacking their precious child's rearend,  and knows exactly what to do in pretty much any situation.

Well, guess what. I don't know any mothers like that, and if you do, you are indeed blessed, and you need read no further.

I sure am not that mother or step-mother or grandmother. My mother wasn't either, nor my grandmothers. My daughter isn't.

I made mistakes. I still make them, although because my children are grown, it's not multiple times every day any more. There was not a parenting manual given to me with either child -- the one I raised from age 14 days or the rebellious, angry teenager I got when she was 16 years (a bonus that came with her wonderful daddy who made it all worth it). (If you got one, let me borrow it, please. I want to know what comes next.)

Oprah Winfrey said "Biology is the least of what makes someone a mother."

What makes you a mother is being there: putting your child's needs ahead of your own, even when there are a thousand things you'd rather do than clean up yet another round of barf; going to all the parent-teacher conferences and the sports games and the music/dance/drama performances; fixing a hot breakfast nearly every single morning because you know that it is important for your kid to get the best possible start to the day; listening to the stories of being teased or rejected or ignored or unfriended and giving hugs and 'there, there's even when you have no clue of how to make things better.

It means loving your child, warts and all, when they choose paths you fervently wish they wouldn't go down, and setting boundaries when their own dramas and poor choices lead them into areas you taught them never to go and into which you won't follow them, but you love them even when you hate their choices.

 And yes, even when you are tired of being the responsible adult and want to just get away from everyone and everything: you stay put and you suck it up and you get over those feelings, and you love, love, love your child even more. Parenthood is a choice. Always. 

There are bad parents out there: ones who hurt their children either deliberately or by neglect. There are mothers who should never have been parents: emotionally incapable of loving anyone, including themselves, or caught in the dark alleys of mental illness or substance abuse, or who have been so poorly parented themselves that they continue that cycle without understanding or seeking to learn that there is another way.

Yet children are resilient. They can overcome horrible childhoods to achieve great things and become loving, giving individuals. They survive the mistakes made by even conscientious, caring parents. Some don't, however: they are stuck in the cycle of blame and rejection and anger, and take it out on others, including their own children, with those resulting miserable emotions and actions spinning out in yet another generation.

I did the best I could where I was with what I had, and I knew enough to seek help when I needed answers. And I knew that loving and being there for my children was the best thing I could do, even at the cost of many tears and heartaches on both sides.

Sometimes it isn't enough, and you just have to live with that when it's all you can give and you've done all you can. And once your child is grown, you must let them go and find their own paths, even when it is difficult to watch and you are oh-so-sure that if they'd just follow your advice, they'd be fine. Uh huh. That's when you must shut up and wave lovingly as they travel along roads that scare you: it's not your journey any longer.

My greatest joys have involved my girls, but so have my greatest sorrows. I think that's true of any mother who understands that parenting is the hardest thing you will ever do in your life, if you do it with all your heart and mind and spirit. And if you can't enter into motherhood accepting that you must do exactly that, that your child's life depends on your doing just that, you shouldn't be one.

Celebrating a life -- loving a child

Thirty-six years ago today I lived in Columbia, Missouri, with my then-husband Jim. I was doing some freelance work for the association he worked for, and we'd been hoping to start a family one way or another, with no luck.

Just a week later we would celebrate his 34th birthday.

And about a week after that, I got a phone call  as I was getting dressed to go into the association office to do some work.

It was the Boone County Social Services Office. They had a baby girl for us. Born Feb. 17, 8 lbs 13 oz.

We held her for the first time a day later, this then-blue-eyed, dark-haired butterball of a cherub, and the following day,  two caseworkers brought her home to us.

It had been a long labor and delivery -- about four years total, as I recall. Biological parents have it easier: one lucky night, and you're pregnant. No home study, no questions about your marriage or your finances or your religion or what role you expect a child to hold in the family or your medical history.

A little more than a year later, she was ours legally,  birth certificate duly changed and court-approved.

She was the center of our family from the first day, and we all loved her, grandparents and uncle too. She was a cherished child, a very much wanted addition to the family, and her life was documented in photos by her daddy from day one. We went through first day at school, soccer games, birthday parties, Girl Scouts, church choir and youth activities, first date, prom, and various academic achievements. We fought, we made up, we talked, we cried, we laughed.

My baby girl is 36 today. Except for those first two weeks or so of her life, I've been her mother. I remember things she doesn't. I know things about her that few others do. I love her like no other ever will. And I wish her happy birthday, happy, happy birthday, and hope for many more good ones. We will celebrate her tonight with gifts and dinner, and I'm grateful to have her close enough to do that.

***************

It has not all been fun nor good nor easy. Especially in the past several years, she has struggled with some monstrous demons, some of her own making, some not. I've wished many times that her problems were the ones I could kiss and make better, but they aren't, and I've had my own struggle to accept that I can't fix her or even help her sometimes. She has to do that herself, has to want to do that enough to do the work. Some days she does; some days she doesn't.

Most of us would not continue a relationship where we are treated poorly, lied to repeatedly, and disrespected -- and yet many of us were similarly scornful of our own parents, if not to their faces (in a different time and place and custom), certainly behind their backs! And yet they loved us still -- and we loved them because we were family. Even when we don't like them, we love our family.

Some parents and children seem to have it easier: maybe their karma allows that on this round, and they are so very blessed to have it. I hope they know how lucky they are.

 My children  have had issues and problems that have not been within my control: the only thing I can determine is how I allow their issues to impact my life. That's not news in these pages: I've written a lot about setting boundaries and working to rebuild fragile relationships. And I've also written about loving them.

I think it's remembering how much that child was wanted that keeps parents still loving the errant and difficult adult that sometimes emerges from that darling baby. It's hope that keeps us praying and sometimes lecturing and supporting them as they try -- or don't try --  to work their way through their issues. It's hope that keeps us wanting the best possible future for them, and hope that allows us to continue to walk beside them, holding their hands as they follow and falter on their life's path. No matter how dark it gets, may they always know that they are dearly and deeply loved!

.

Reverb11 -- Day 18 -- Family Time and Lunching

#1 Prompt: Family: Recall a special moment with your family from 2011.  Describe in detail what you want to remember about this memory forever. 

#2 Prompt: Let's do lunch! - If you could have lunch with anybody, who would it be and what would you like to discuss?


#1 -- Family .My family is scattered, both immediate and extended, and the latter is not especially close: I've written some about that this year. Our girls are in Red Bluff and Kent now (and one who has been intentionally silent for several years is, we believe, on the other coast). When my mother was living, we gathered in Missouri for Christmas, my brother coming from Nashville, the girls from Birmingham (and once from Ohio), and we spent some fun times there, although it was never without some drama and anxiety. These days any family gatherings are few and far between.


This year, one special moment was a celebration of our grandson's third birthday. It was just Tony and me with V, her three older step-children, and Gabe, at a little picnic area near their apartment. We'd brought KFC,  watermelon and other side dishes, and some gifts for Gabe. They'd put up a badminton net and spread some blankets under a big tree, and for once the June weather was warm but not hot. Tony'd brought his video camera and captured images of Gabe riding his new Plasmacar and the other children and even V taking turns on it. We got to talk more to the older children than we had in the past, and really enjoyed the day with all of them: it was precious to see the love the kids have for each other. And it was a real joy to see V efficiently mothering them all, wiping faces, serving up watermelon and chicken, pouring drinks.


Never frequent for a bunch of reasons, such moments will be even fewer with them now in Washington, but we hope to visit them in 2012 and look forward to another picnic, perhaps on the shores of Puget Sound.


#2 -- Lunch. Anybody? Living or dead? Famous or not? The possibilities!


If I chose someone famous --  say, Oprah, or Hilary Clinton, or the poet Mary Oliver -- I'd probably be too nervous to enjoy the experience, and I'd expect they'd see it more as just another obligation to get through and be pleasant. So no thanks.


There are some long-ago friends I would like to see again, if only to find out how their lives have gone and what they've learned. And a handful of family members to share memories and figure out our similarities.


But I'd most like to have lunch with my parents. I'd like to know what getting older was like for them, what lessons they learned in their lives and what they'd do differently. I'd like to know how they figured out how to parent as well as they did, knowing something of how they each grew up. I'd like to know what they were most grateful for, and what their best memories were. I'd like to make sure they know how grateful I am for their love and support and non-judgmental acceptance (even when I'm sure they had doubts!), and how I miss them and think of them, especially at this time of year. I want to watch my daddy savor the good barbecued ribs he loved, and my mother taste the rich coconut cake from that little Victorian tea room she so enjoyed. I'd like once more to drink in the sound of their voices and their facial expressions and feel the touch of their hands on my face.

Saving the only life I can

Like many whose nature it is to take care of others, I have an almost overwhelming need to make things 'all right' when I know a friend or relative is having problems, sometimes to the point of obsession and to the detriment of my own sleep and daily life.

I want to 'fix' it. I want to offer advice and care. I want their issues to be resolved and for them not to be troubled with whatever it is.

I've done this all my life.

Over the years I've learned to (mostly) shut up and only offer advice if I'm asked, although I still sometimes venture an opinion if I think it will be received as it was meant -- to be helpful. I don't leap in anymore (hardly ever) with my superwoman cape bearing food, money, or tangible 'help' that might ease the pain of whatever issue it is for the individual.

I am especially guilty of asking too many questions, mostly of my daughters, although I have curbed that urge significantly in the last year or two -- admittedly probably not to their satisfaction. I try not to offer unsolicited advice very often, at least.

But I have mom-radar that works overtime and picks up little things here and there that sometimes can feed my obsessive mind and fertile imagination. Sometimes I'm wrong and everything is pretty much okay. And I hate it when I'm right and things start crashing down.

I want my children (and friends) to be okay, to have lives that are satisfying and reasonably calm and with enough of everything to keep them healthy, safe, fed, clothed, warm, and housed.

But I also understand with everything in me that is rational that I cannot live their lives and make their choices for them. I must be okay with watching them fail sometimes and without trying to fix anything.

(I'll admit that both Tony and I have, in the past, 'fixed' things, at least somewhat: Made it easier to get to a goal, or offered support when maybe it would have been better to stand back, lovingly. But we've worked on reasonable boundaries for our behavior and for their expectations, and it has succeeded fairly well, although not without some occasional pain and angst on both sides.)

When someone you love makes choices that appear to be dangerous either to their health or well-being, setting boundaries becomes far more difficult, and yet even more essential.

I've invested much time and money and worry in our girls, especially as some issues have proven to be so huge and ongoing, even a matter of survival. It's taken a toll on me that I've realized more clearly in recent months, and I've been working on relinquishing control, whether by giving my opinion or taking charge of getting things done, or checking in (asking questions).

I got smacked upside the head last week, though, when I was reading through the new O Magazine issue. It was one of our recently frequent stormy, windy nights with rain and very strong gusts howling outside, and I was reading in bed, just prior to turning off the light (as I do every night).

The issue is about poetry and the importance it has for so many of us, how it's shaped our actions or given us touchstones to live by. (I've especially loved Robert Frost since I first read him so many decades ago and still can recite several, for instance. )

On this night, though, I was reading Maria Shriver's interview with poet Mary Oliver. Shriver had included her favorite of Oliver's poems, "The Journey," which I read after I'd finished the article.

And it said exactly what I've needed to hear in exactly the words that would resonate so deeply that I couldn't rationalize my behavior and feelings anymore.

I've read it every day since, (puddling up every time) repeating the last words over and over to myself: "...determined to do the only thing you could do--determined to save the only life you could save."

That would be mine.

And that's my new mantra. It's making things easier for me, actually. It's on the order of the old 12-step saying, "I am powerless over people, places and things" -- but somehow it has been especially meaningful for me right now.

There is more of my life behind me than is ahead of me. I will not abdicate that in favor of someone else's life, no matter how much I love them and want to make things better.

I still have hopes and dreams and plans to achieve for myself. And nobody else can do that for me except me. No one WILL do that for me except me. And I must allow those I care about to do the same for their own lives, regardless of what I might think about it. It is not mine to live.

So I'm finally moving ahead with my own life: taking care of me first, doing things I want to do, living more in the moment -- my moment, not someone else's moment.

And I'm keeping my head up, watching for the stars to break through the clouds. Because they will. They are.

Motherhood, revisited

I'm trying to remember really hard tonight why it is I so desperately wanted to be a mother, why my ex and I went through years of fertility testing, adoption interviews, emotional pain that was devastating to our sex life and self-esteem.

There was a charming, delightful little bundle of baby at the end of all that. She grew up reasonably okay and we had some good times -- or so I thought until the last several years, when I discovered secrets she'd hidden which are now contributing in no small way to mental and health issues which are now front and center in her life, and which have certainly impacted mine, financially and emotionally.

Didn't protect her very well, it seems. Bad mama.

And then when my beloved came along years later with two more daughters, I was delighted to have them. And I fell in love with them. Oh there were issues there too -- but there also were some good times, some real bonding.

One has estranged herself from us for reasons we know not. Poof. Gone. No crystal ball here -- no explanation, no demands, no nothing.

REALLY bad mama.

The other, the one who has called me Mom for several years and who regards my first daughter as her sister, has pretty much said that I'm a crappy person who she has lost both faith in and respect for because I/we didn't leap to bail her out of an admittedly difficult place, and because I sent e-mail links without signing them or even so much as a note. And I didn't call her back when I said I would. (I'm guilty of that, no question. The e-mails were sent on the fly, in haste, not deliberately being 'cold,' and were intended to offer helpful information. I didn't call her back because ... it's complicated. But I should have.) She's saying she doesn't need this kind of 'family.'

Bad, BAD, ROTTEN mama.

So what's the solution since I can't go back to the past and change how I did things then, teach lessons better, act as a better example myself?

Beat myself up some more?

Self-flagellation may be the road to spiritual bliss in some cultures, but I'm not good with pain.

Give them whatever they want/need whenever they ask, regardless of the impact it may have on our own retirement plans or emotional health? Because that's what 'good' parents do -- devote themselves to the well-being of their children even if the children are adults and we have no say in the decisions they're making for themselves?

I don't think so. I don't think the parenting books think that's a good idea either.

Give 'em both one last check and move to outer Mongolia, leaving no forwarding address?

Tempting. Really tempting. Well, maybe not the outer Mongolia part, but certainly the no fowarding address part.

I don't think I'm a cold, unfeeling, uncaring person. Most of my life I've had the opposite problem -- getting too involved in the problems of others (and ignoring the ones of my own, which have a nasty way of eventually demanding attention). I've often trusted too easily, taking people at their word, and have been disappointed time and time again. I don't like to think of people being sick or sad or hungry or depressed or homeless or abused, and I try to help where and when I can.

But I don't know where this ends. I don't know where the boundary is between too much and not enough. I don't know how to say no or enough without it causing high drama and more trauma for all of us. Like most men, my honey is better at separating emotion from action, but he's not a happy camper either. Bad daddy?

(At least we're suited for each other, I guess -- bad mama and bad daddy. )

This is not what I'd pictured all those years ago. This is not how it was in my family nor in his, and not what our children grew up watching.

I'm still working to accept my children as they are, warts and all, and I love them dearly. But I'm not sure that means that I sacrifice who I am, what my dreams and goals and desires are, what we've worked for all these years, to meet their needs and wants now.

Wonder if Mongolia has an ocean? (heading for the atlas...)

Self-will redux

I've started to write new posts a few times in the last few weeks, but something has always come up to reinforce how very relevant the last one about self-will is. That's been pretty much how things have gone lately...

My blogger friend is, to my surprise, seemingly doing pretty well. He's still employed, has a new girlfriend, has begun a small lawn-care business, and has seen a new psych doc who has cut way back on his meds. He seems to be coping with the changes from what he is writing, and doesn't seem to be drinking excessively (or much at all). Again, I realize this is a very one-sided report since there is nothing except his blog to verify it, but I'm glad for his success. May it continue. It brings me hope that healing is possible.

In other ways, however, the self-will phrase is still applicable in our daily lives, as I suppose it always will be. I struggle daily with the need to exercise and be careful about what I eat, and blew it pretty well at a lovely dinner Friday night.

We'd taken some friends out to eat at our local golf club where we have a strictly social membership. It's a pleasant evening, looking at lush greens of the course, a lake, and trees. The food is just excellent, and the four of us enjoyed fresh, well-prepared food. And then the server asked about dessert. Well, I'd already indulged in a mound of garlic red=skinned mashed potatoes which were delicious and most definitely not something I need to be eating regularly. But she proceeded to describe the cookies and cream ice cream cake and the Reese's peanut butter cup ice cream cake, and we ordered BOTH for the table. Homemade cakes, they were, and seriously decadent. So while I ended up taking home a good-sized portion of my meal, we ate every drop of the desserts.

So I'm back to being very prudent and will climb on the treadmill shortly, just to salve my guilty conscience and to move forward on the path I need to be on. It's not all about perfection, but about the ability to pick up and move forward when there is a slipup.

There's also been a disturbance in the daughter forces which has resulted in some difficulty sleeping and a lot of discussion. It's yet another exercise in setting reasonable boundaries and letting go lovingly, and we have been consciously trying to do this for some time, although we keep revisiting it.

In reading recently, I found this quote from Mary Tucker: "I had to take my own advice and be a responsible adult and let her go, let her go to whatever broken bridge may be in her future and know deeply that it is her life to live, her mistakes to make and learn from and it does not make me less her mother or that I love her any less."

Applicable, of course, for Tony as well, since we make decisions together...

This is easier said than lived with, I might add. I've written before about setting boundaries with adult children, read some really good books about it, but it is hard to set a boundary when you are watching your child in distress. No parent ever wants to watch a child suffer. And yet. AND yet...

They begin and end one place. We begin and end somewhere else. They get to make their own decisions and choices as to how to live their lives. We are not responsible for those choices or decisions, and are not obligated to approve, disapprove, finance, or otherwise support them.

Unfortunately, repeated requests take an emotional toll on relationships. And it becomes an endless circle of rebuilding and repairing and re-establishing some measure of trust, and there is always a wariness of 'what's next,' alas. Love is not the issue: we love our children NO MATTER WHAT. But we cannot afford any longer to rescue them from their choices and actions either financially or emotionally. It is not our right to do so, it is not our responsibility, we cannot control their lives -- nor do we want to! And it definitely is not the best thing for them.

Dear heavens, making choices and taking responsibility for ourselves is quite enough for anyone!

So in the end, it still boils down to creating our own destiny. We choose our future by our choices today and our today is based on choices we've made in the past. While we cannot change past choices, we do have choices at this moment, this day, and can go forward onto a different path that takes us where we want to go.

Had I made different choices as a young woman, I would not be here now. Looking back, I see crossroads all through my life, although only in the past 20 years or so have I been able to actually realize when I am standing at one (and still miss some). Sometimes they're big enough to slap you upside the head. Sometimes they are much less obvious but just as life-changing. Few are easy choices, even the logical ones.

It takes self-will to break out of a pattern, even a destructive one, and move forward on a new path. Self-will run riot is merely repeating the same choices and actions over and over and over in hopes of a new, more beneficial outcome. And it will never, ever work.

Self-will run riot

One of the blogs I read regularly is written by a young man who has a mental illness and is also an alcoholic. He is very forthcoming about his problems and his relationship with his family, and he writes very well -- you can 'see' the scenes he describes, and 'listen' to the dialogues between him and the few people who populate his world. He could certainly write a book that would be interesting and descriptive.

He's sort of gone off the rails lately and seems to be in a rather manic phase, doing things that are likely to lead to devastation and relapse and perhaps even hospitalization, in my inexpert opinion. His past blog posts pretty much bear that out -- this is not new behavior. He is talking all the right stuff, but I'm very skeptical. Guess that's a problem when you've been around for a while -- not much really is new behavior or situations that can't be seen pretty clearly.

It's a classic example of "self-will run riot" -- a description of an alcoholic who wants to deny that "... he is bodily and mentally different from his fellows. Therefore, it is not surprising that our drinking careers have been characterized by countless vain attempts that somehow, someday we will control and enjoy our drinking is the real obsession of every abnormal drinker. The persistence of this illusion is astonishing."

We've used this phrase for years to describe many situations: our daughters' behaviors, for instance, when they go off to do something that, they explain to us, "is something I just have to do for me." And then we watch when the train derails, or at best, loses a couple of cars as it careens around the twisty, wind-y bends. Or situations at work, or in meetings when self-interest prevails over the goals of the group to the point of being damaging.

But we're not picking up as many pieces as we used to in any of the situations, hard as it has been. It's hard not to leap in and save people from themselves, to throw money at something to ease the pain, to smooth out whatever problems have arisen from the individual's self-will rioting.

We've set boundaries for ourselves: beyond this place be dragons. And we don't go there, at least not often, and not with everything we can muster.

We create our own destiny. Our actions will have re-actions, and when -- despite past history, despite the cautions of those who know and love us, despite (perhaps) that tiny voice deep inside us saying "Danger, danger, Will Robinson!" -- we forge ahead anyway, the resulting issues are ours to deal with.

This phrase applies in so many ways! Right now we are trying hard to curtail portion sizes, to limit foods that we know are not good for us (like anything my seriously bad sweet tooth wants), and to lose weight. We are on the edge of diabetes (both of us have immediate relatives who had it), and the way to forestall it is to lose weight and do some kind of regular exercise.

If we don't do all we can now, it IS going to happen. It WILL shorten our lives and cause us other health issues.

I don't want to get there knowing that I could have done something to prevent -- or at least deterred -- the disease.

So when I'm tempted to pick up a box of candies at the store, I remember "self-will run riot" and put it back down. If it's not in the house, I can't eat it. And I can't afford too many more 'just this once -- I deserve it' excuses. It's too easy to slip back into bad habits.

In my blogger friend's case, he has made a bunch of changes in only a few days -- like getting a job after having been on disability for years, like drinking again, like deciding that he doesn't really have an alcoholic problem but it's the stress of dealing with his anxieties (caused, of course, by the pressure his family has put on him) that made him drink.

And it's not that I think some of his decisions aren't good ones in the long run. But positive change occurs with planning and talking and slowly implementing first one thing, then another, then another, and in concert with your doctor and caregivers. That hasn't happened.

To change everything all at once, to leap without considering the effects of your choices on your finances, your body, your loved ones, and your mental state is a sure-fire way to crash land.

Self-will is what it takes to change, for sure. Disciplined, planned, determined self-will got me to California. It got me into healthier lifestyles in years past. But it was planned, and it was not done without regard to consequences.

I hope my blogger friend will be all right. His parents have, from what he writes, picked him up and rescued him many times over the years, and he is incredibly lucky for that, I suppose. I'm sure they will do the same this time, although I think their doing so continues to set up a pattern that will eventually repeat with the same results.

And when you love someone, especially a child, it's very hard to watch the crash landing and do little or nothing. But sometimes that is the best thing one can do: be compassionate and loving, but acknowledging that the choices and consequences are someone else's to deal with.

All we have control over is ourselves: not others, not our children or our friends or our grandchildren or our relatives. They must take responsibility for their own choices and actions even if those choices impact us and our emotions. By rescuing too often, we try to take their lives into our own hands -- and that is not good for anyone.

I may be dumb...

but I'm not stupid.

But I'm beginning to wonder about our daughters. After about a month living together and trying to pick up some of the pieces of their lives that have been broken and move forward, they're both back in the same ol' same ol' stinking thinking modes.

At least that's what it seems like. Lies, by intentional omission as well as just plain old lying to my face, are thick, fast, and everywhere. (did I mention how much I hate lying? how much I've always hated lying?)

And they must think I'm a real dullard -- i.e., both dumb AND stupid -- because they keep telling me (or not telling me) stories that are so transparent you could read through them. And then are surprised when I call them on it. And they're just not talking to Tony, maybe because they're a little more intimidated by him than by me. (big mistake, girls....)

Geezeohpete.

So we're back to boundaries, I guess, and they aren't gonna like the new ones.

We don't either.

It's tough to watch your children go through hard times. It doesn't get any easier even when they keep making the same mistakes over and over, keep going back into the same situation hoping to see different results.

Albert Einstein apparently had some experience with this kind of behavior. He said, "We can't solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.”

He also is the author of this quote: "Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

And yet another, one I've heard for a long time: "If you do what you've always done, you'll get what you've always gotten."

It's not like the girls haven't heard us say this. Both of them grew up with such tidbits from our respective mouths. Apparently it hasn't sunk in with them. And there are days I despair of it ever doing so with either of them.

Boundaries are hard to draw when you're dealing with someone you love. But folks, this is the only life we get (far as we know anyway). I am not going to spend what I have left of my life allowing someone else to drive what I do because of their actions and dramas.

So I'm saying: I love both girls dearly. I will never stop loving them, no matter what they do. But I will not allow their choices to interfere with how I want to spend the rest of my life. I am not responsible for their choices. I am responsible and accountable for mine.

WE determine our own destiny.

Full house

Both the princesses and the little princeling are living under our roof at present, and I'm doing pretty well in keeping my cool, if I do say so.

It's not that there is no drama. We brought Princess V and the princeling from Redding very late Saturday night after her BF came home smashed and got belligerent, and she called 911. She and Princess R went up there today to collect most of the rest of her stuff. And I got to babysit....which I also did yesterday.

A side note: amazing how those skills never leave. I'm changing diapers, feeding, and hoisting him around on my hip like I haven't had a 30-year gap between babies...

All of them are moving out this week to live together in a little house R found about a month ago. Do I have my doubts? Oh yeah. Am I worrying about how it will work? Nope. Really.

About a month-six weeks ago I made a very conscious decision to stop trying to manage anything except my own life, and I've done a good job with it with only a few slips. Both girls have spoken to me, worried that "something was wrong" because I seemed so "fragile."

Makes me laugh! I am anything but fragile, and Tony told both of them that too. I'm just not asking as many questions nor offering much advice, and I told them both that, and that the lack of questioning was probably what they were noticing! I'm watching it unfold, watching as they make choices and decisions, and trying to be passively supportive. Which I am -- not necessarily with the choices or decisions, but I am about THEIR RIGHT TO DO SO.

In other words, folks, what I'm doing is practicing actively what I preach so often: we make our own destiny. Nobody else can determine the course of our lives except we ourselves.

If it works and nothing catastrophic happens, I'll be thrilled. Am I skeptical? You betcha. But I'm trying not to project that out, either. I'm just trying to enjoy having our grandson here to play with and rock and feed (and give to his mama to change the stinkies). And enjoy having both girls here too, for the bit of time left. I'm offering help in finding stuff for the house and a bit of money to help, but it's up to them to accept it or not, and I'm not offended if they don't want the help.

So next weekend we should be back to two of us with two cats. Sounds good to me.

I'm glad they're both here and safe for the moment, and I hope things will work out for them, but I am no longer interested in managing the process. That's good growth for me, and also for them.

Meanwhile, we're going to see Antsy McClain and the Trailer Park Troubadours tonight at the State Theatre -- just Tony and me. Ought to be a great way to unwind!

Quietly contemplating choices

After a couple of days of turmoil on all fronts, lots of fear and ice weasels, lots of reading about coping and consequences, we are in a place of relative calm tonight.

Our child is safe and okay, and has made some decisions about where she wants to be. For my part, I am determined to give her back the power I've assumed on her behalf over the last few months, and to stop treating her as though she were an errant teenager.

For this moment, I believe what she is saying is the truth.

And if it is not, that too will eventually come out. Truth always does.

But everyone deserves at least a couple of do-overs, y'know? So this is one.

I do have a problem with control: I like knowing what is going on and alllllll the details -- always have, and that has caused problems in my relationships with my daughters in the past. If I really get honest about it, I think I see the "right" thing to do, and I push and push to have it go in that direction.

For me, the hardest thing is to let go of that control. While I say "I am powerless over people, places, and things," I often don't actually ACT it. or believe it, I suppose

My brother would agree that I am and always have been fairly bossy. (ooo...that is SO hard to admit, especially where I know he's going to see it)

And I also have to admit that my own life has not always been a textbook of the best or the right way to live. I've screwed things up pretty well any number of times. No, I never suffered horrible consequences like getting thrown in jail, getting arrested, gravely serious injury (although I bear a few scars here and there, and there are a few instances I really don't like remembering), or doing injury to others, at least injuries that are visible.

But I'm sure I gave my mother and father more than a few sleepless nights, and caused my ex some major heartburn. I'm sure I lost a few friends -- although I'm not sure that they were all that great a friend to begin with.

So the lesson I need to find in this is to accept the consequences of my own behavior, of my own choices, and to let go of the need and the desire to direct the choices and lives of others -- my daughters, my dear husband, or my greater family and friends.

It simply is NOT MINE TO DO. Not mine to manage.

Whatever my daughters choose to do in their lives are theirs to manage and to live with. I will never, ever stop loving them. But I am not responsible for their choices. I cannot control their mistakes. And we ALL make mistakes.

Mine in this instance was probably in jumping a bit too quickly to conclusions, and trying too hard to control things.

If there is risky behavior from either child, it is they who will bear the consequences. I cannot save them from that, try as I might. And to jump in to either condemn or rescue is equally as bad.

So tonight I will turn my attention to myself, and ask for the serenity to accept those things I cannot change. And for the wisdom to know the difference. I don't lack for courage, but wisdom to know has definitely been an issue in the past. I just didn't realize how great an issue it still was.

And I am grateful that she is safe and okay for now, that she has made a CHOICE to be where she is, and that her people radar has kicked in enough, at least, to override her stubborn nature and allowed her to see the danger.

I will turn my worries and fears and control over to the care of God/dess, and try to keep myself on the path to serenity. This is a journey. It matters what I do every day. But neither will I beat myself up unnecessarily. It is about progress, not perfection, and I am working on my own issues.

Thank you for your prayers and your love. It is all that which has brought this to be where it is tonight, of that I am sure. Keep them coming -- and I will hold you close in my heart and in my prayers as well.

Another line

We're in the process of drawing another line with yet another daughter.

A reader just today left a comment on this post, which certainly fits with our current situation although circumstances are a bit different.

Boundaries are necessary in our lives, else we end up doing everything for others and leave ourselves high and dry. Or we compromise deeply held values and beliefs. Or we expose ourselves to dangerous situations.

Unfortunately our daughter doesn't know how to draw good boundaries for herself and we believe she may have chosen to engage in extremely risky behavior, jeopardizing her already precarious mental health, her physical health (which is also already compromised), and our home and safety.

All of this stems from long-ago issues that were most clearly not her fault; however, her subsequent choices have led her to this moment, and she has to take at least some responsbility for making those choices. At this moment, she seems to have chosen a path that will lead to serious consequences.

I can pray that she will decide she doesn't want that and that she is willing to take the hard journey back to sanity and to health, and I will support her -- we ALL will -- to the extent that she will allow us. Until then, just as with our other child, we must pull back and stop enabling.
.

It's the hardest thing I've ever done.

Please light a candle for her. Say a prayer that God and Goddess and all the angels will bless and keep her safe. And please say one for me too. Throughout these past three months I have felt the collective support and love from friends near and far supporting me and loving me. Please don't stop now...

Telling the story 2

We accelerated the plan to last week -- Aug. 4 -- when several other details came to light about Princess #1's living situation in Alabama. Scary stuff including abuse and denial of food, among other things. And it already was pretty scary anyway.

So I met her dad there a week ago, and as soon as the jerk left for work, we got busy. R had prepared for this -- determining what we could pack into her car and her dad's van, and had weeded through clothing, made lists, and done as much as she could without arousing suspicion -- which she's not sure she quite managed, but came pretty close.

We loaded stuff in, including her two kitties, with the help of a couple of friends who I knew when I lived there, and eventually headed north to Missouri, where her dad lives. The little pile of possessions that made it out of there is not large -- but you know, the only irreplaceable things are people (and kitties).

The next day we headed for California, driving through Nebraska, Wyoming, Utah, Nevada, on I-80. It took all week, and we probably averaged over 600 miles a day. We got here about 5 p.m. Friday, after hitting most of the rest areas in all five states -- um, six including Missouri. Or actually more, when you count Alabama, Tennessee, Kentucky, and Illinois, which we went through to get to central Missouri.

We played at a casino one night in Nevada, shopped a Walmart in Nebraska, had our cell phones squeal and lose signal in Wyoming. We drove through rain, a little lightning, dust devils and wind, and amazingly found the last room available at a hotel in Rock Springs, Wyoming -- which is seeing most hotels full most nights because of a gas and oil boom that has workers staying in the lodging from there to Evanston, Wy. If you're headed that way, make reservations EARLY...

And the kitties were great, except for the last two days when one of them cried for most of the mornings -- we think the altitude might have hurt his ears.

Played the iPod -- he likes Enya, apparently, and finally curled up and went to sleep between us. The other, much mellower, kitty was fine and slept her days away curled in little places.

What an enormous change for R, especially.... and it has not been easy, but we're trying to stay in the moment and deal with one day at a time. Please continue your prayers for her especially as she deals with the stress of coming out of a terrible situation into safety, and leaving a place she's known as home since 1990.

I am so grateful for the seemingly unending strength and patience I've had this week -- I drove nearly all the way, and talked a blue streak. I know this is from the prayers and loving energy of my friends and family -- there is no other explanation. While I am reasonably patient and pretty strong, the deep wells of both qualities have been amazing to me --

So we begin a new chapter with an adult child living with us again. Princess #3 is thrilled and showed up at our door barely 10 minutes after we drove in, and the girls have really bonded again, which pleases us all. This is a good place, a calming place, and I pray for serenity, strength, and more patience for each of us to see this through.

Change is afoot -- I'm not sure what is going on in the universe, but it's hit more than just us. It remains to be seen what happens -- but last year, a little earlier than now, we asked the universe for help, for what we wanted, and we were gifted with what we asked for. We're doing the same now. This, or something better....

Blessings to you. Thank you.

Practicing what I preach

It's one thing to philosophize about creating our own destinies....to reiterate that we, only we ourselves, are responsible for how we live our life, that the choices we make will dictate what happens to us and that if we don't like what we're getting, we'd best get off our collective duffs and change things.

It's another to accept it as fact. Especially when you love someone, like your kid, and nasty things are happening to her -- some of which is NOT her fault nor because of any choice she made or didn't make.

And it's even harder to accept that I cannot fix it. Mom the magnificent is powerless over people, places, and things. The ice weasels have been out buying party supplies.

She is not a child..definitely a grown woman, quite capable of making her own decisions (actually, that applies to all of them). They're all where they are because of choices they made on their own -- two of 'em with men who we've tried to accept that they love and see something in that isn't quite apparent to our parental eyes (rather more the opposite, if you wanna know).

And one of them demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt that he has a mean, cruel streak and anger management issues. Fortunately, I guess, the daughter who's with him (it wasn't physical abuse) is seeing things a little more clearly and is talking about finding another roommate. Her illness, however, which is NOT her fault and for which she in treatment, leaves her in a very vulnerable place financially and emotionally.

So I'm trying to suggest possible resources and encouraging her to talk with her doctor. But what I want to do is rush in, get her out, and unleash a mother's fury on the guy.

And I can't. And I won't.

I'm telling her -- just as I have for years, and just as I've told her sister over and over again -- you live one day at a time. You do what you can with what you've got. If you don't like where you are, you find ways to change it. You ask questions of your doctors, your friends, of social agencies, of nonprofits that are there to help. You fill out applications and follow directions. You keep on doing that until you get the answers you need, the help you need. You CAN do it. You ARE strong and resourceful and smart. You can do whatever you decide you need to do.

And I pray that they are all safe, that they are strong enough to handle the grief, the anger, the embarrassment, the endless probing questions, the illness, the fear, the loneliness.

You are NOT alone, I tell them. I am here to make suggestions, to listen, to love you, to give you pep talks, to say 'there there', to cry with you sometimes. I will always be here to do that. I will always want to fix it for you. And I will never be able to do that. But YOU CAN.

That's what I say.

And then the ice weasels turn up the boom box so I can't hear myself say it to myself.

But I know it's true. At my core, I know that only they can make things different. And I just pray for them and hope they are strong enough to get through it.

Feeling out of sorts? You're not alone

As I mentioned a few posts ago, things seem very unsettled and uncomfortable in the world now, both in my little personal sphere and the earth as a whole.

I start nearly every time the phone rings, hoping it's not one of the princesses with yet another crisis and health issue. The youngest has not only delivered a baby -- young Gabriel -- in the past three weeks, but also ended up in the hospital with pneumonia last week, exacerbated I'm sure by all the smoke and nasty air that we've had in these parts from the fires. (it's smoky again today)

And the eldest is battling big depression and mental health issues far away from me so that I can't even put my arms around her and just cry with her. So I try to do it via phone. She's talking to me -- a good thing -- and is getting help, but it seems like one big crisis after another, impacting finances as well as job and emotional health.

All of which invite the ice weasels, which so far I've managed to stave off from a full-fledged attack. I can feel them nibbling, though.

And I'm not the only one who is having these feelings. Lunaea posed the question a few days ago and got some good responses. And Joanna offers her own suggestions for dealing with emotional issues today.

There are good ideas here to cope, and I've done most of them at one point or another. For now, I'm trying to stay in the moment and focus on what I need to do here. I'm trying to remember that I am powerless over people, places and things, and that there is really not one thing I can do to fix this for either princess. They must do the work. I am the listener, the comforter, the suggester. I try to make solid suggestions and hope the seeds grow. They each must find their own way through their dark and stormy times, but I hope that while I talk to them that I can be the lighthouse in the darkness.

I am grateful for my lighthouse, my wonderful husband, and for his sane and loving touch. I am grateful for my own sense of self and strength. The ocean renewed some of that for me this weekend. I watch the hummingbirds and water my plants and harvest the good veggies, and am thankful for life and for its constancy. As the old fades, the new takes its place. My daughters have to find their own paths through the darkness, just as I have found mine.

About mothers

Yesterday was Mother's Day -- the third since mine died -- and I did a lot of thinking about motherhood while I was cleaning out my closet (transitioning from winter to summer), washing and folding clothes, grocery shopping, and generally doing stuff that needed doing -- which I also did most of Saturday, only it was in the garden and cleaning off the front porch and mucking out the kitty houses.

So. Mothers.

Mother's Day really glorifies mothers, don't you think? All those schmaltzy cards, gift ideas, reservations for dinner, etc. -- makes every single mother sound practically like a saint. And come on, folks, you KNOW that's not true.

I'm sure many mothers really do the best they can for their kids, fix good, healthy meals, help them with homework, attend various sports events, always know what's going on with their kids, and so on. I sure tried, and that was with me working full time (where DID I get the energy!)

And I still felt like a failure so many times, like the worst mother in the universe, in history probably. And my kid, probably like yours, pretty much told me that more than once when she was a teenager -- but that's what teenagers do, remember...

But there are some truly awful mothers too, y'know? You read about them in the newspaper, locking their child in a cage, or pimping them out for drugs, or driving them into a lake. Beating them with words and whips. It makes me wonder why they were lucky enough to have children...

And yet the primary person in everyone's memory is mom, no matter how awful. There is a bond that is almost impossible to overcome, even when it is in a person's best interests to do so.

And realizing that, it becomes so important to take care of that relationship between mother and child, to honor it and treasure it and nurture it, even when you told you are the worst mother in the world, even when you FEEL like the worst mother in the world. Even when your kid is driving you crazy, worrying you beyond worry, behaving like no child you could have raised!

That bond lasts beyond death. Ask anyone who has lost their mother. She's right there, whispering in your ear, praising, scolding, loving.

That's what it's about: loving.

I had a long, loving talk with one daughter yesterday, a talk that gave me hope for her and a belief that she is going to be okay. And I heard from another daughter who is slogging through a hard time, step by step, and with more confidence and practicality than I'd have imagined she could have.

It made me feel good that I'm their mom.

And then today, a card came thanking me for listening, and saying how proud my daughter is to call me mom and her best friend. It made me cry. And it makes everything worth it -- all the worry, the fear, the uncertainty, even the times when I felt like the worst mother in the world. Today I felt like the best one.

Eight years ago

today my daddy died. Every once in a while -- most recently at a concert Saturday night -- I'll see an older man from the back, or from the side, who has his fine, white, flyaway hair or his thin, slightly bent figure, or the crinkles in his face that come from a wide smile, and I'll have to look twice, or three times. Just to be sure, y'know?

It was unexpected: he'd gone in for an angiogram, they'd found significant blockage, and left it to him to decide whether or not to have surgery. He had just turned 83. As it turned out, the blockage and damage from years of diabetes was more extensive than expected, and his heart wasn't strong enough to rally. He came out of surgery okay, but never regained full consciousness and died the next day.

I miss him, although that horrible grief and pain has been gone for a long time. And he would have made a terrible invalid. I miss his smile and his big, hearty laugh. I miss his sentimental tears when he'd watch a tv show that touched him. I miss sharing books with him.

I miss his singing. He always had a song for every situation, even if just a snatch of melody. Rachel grew up thinking that he'd made up just for her the old folk tune "Reuben, Reuben, I've Been Thinking.." -- the second verse is "Rachel, Rachel, I've been thinking..."

I miss that a lot.

So much has happened in these past eight years, and there have been many moments when I've felt him nearby -- especially when Mother was alive, and when she was so sick, I knew he was there beside her, beside us.

He was a good, caring, involved father and came to our concerts and plays and activities. He loved us deeply, and we knew it. He told me once that his father had never seen him on stage -- had never come to his games, his plays...sad.

He was proud of us, my brother and me, and who we are and what we do, and we knew that too. We were blessed to have him -- and my mother -- as parents.

I think you truly grow up when your parents die and the torch passes to you in the great wheel of life. Assuming a good relationship, you will never again have that unconditional love that is such an incredible bond between a parent and a child. (The love of a spouse can be utterly amazing and deep, and I am the most fortunate of women to have found that, thanks in no small part to my awareness and appreciation of my parents' lifelong love affair with each other. But that is different.)

So I'll light a candle for Daddy tonight and give thanks for his life. We loved him dearly. We miss him still.

Monkey mind

I've opened the "New Post" window half a dozen times in the last week and closed them each time after sitting here staring at the ready-and-waiting blank text box.

My mind is swirling with fragmented thoughts, many of them anxious, and I don't seem to be able to put them into words that are going to say anything to me or to you. Usually writing is very therapeutic for me, but I think some of my thoughts lead to dark places that are speculative and unfounded, and home to an entire megacity of ice weasels, and I have tried to stay away from them.

So let's see where this takes me.

My uncle's death made me feel very disconnected from family, and I've touched a few of them via e-mail, but that's not tremendously satisfying. It has made me very aware that while my cousins and I share some DNA and some common childhood memories, there really isn't much else, at least in recent years. We had a big family reunion in 2001 -- a month before 9/11 -- and every sibling except my mother was there (she was too fragile to travel). Most of my cousins were there, some with their children and children's children. It was at once fun and stressful: I missed my mother and dad very much, and felt that my mother's sibs should have called her during the event, which they did not, although I talked to her daily.

In fairness, two of her sisters and their daughters visited her just weeks after to share pictures and stories, and in fact got stranded because 9/11 happened the day they were to fly back to the West Coast and nothing was flying. I very much appreciated their visit to her, and she did too, especially with the subsequent events.

I felt then that there were many twigs on that family tree that I would never know -- in fact, would be hard pressed to recognize some of them outside of a family setting. It's a big family -- six sibs, 17 cousins, and a whole big bunch of seconds and thirds and in-laws. They have lives, busy ones, with young children and careers, and few of us live near each other.

On the other side of the family there were four sibs, with only one still alive, far away from here. We never had a reunion, and there's at least one cousin I'm not sure I'd know by sight. Nine cousins there, and I stay in fairly regular touch with a couple of them. And none of us live nearby.

So I've been working on wrapping my arms around the fact that I have acquaintances who are relatives, that everyone has busy, involved lives, and that their extended family is their immediate family -- their parent(s), children, grandchildren. Oh, we still share that heritage, but the connection gets buried underground for the most part.

I think too that I've been dwelling perhaps overlong on family because mine seems to have fragmented in the past few months, and it is painful. Right now communication with any of our children is zip, and I miss them very much. The choice to communicate or not is theirs -- and to be honest, we don't understand the whys and wherefores.

One is going through painful personal growth, including a divorce, and has chosen for the time being not to stay in touch with us. This is a child neither of us raised, although she was loved, and with whom we had established an adult relationship within the past 10 years -- but it was at a disadvantaged distance of some 2000 miles, and with unspoken expectations that were not met -- by golly, it's hard to read minds at 2000 feet, much less 2000 miles! We hope -- and believe -- she will come out stronger and better, and that we will eventually be in communication with her again. We are sending her occasional cards and letters to let her know we love her.

Another has chosen not to communicate since that late-night phone call a few weeks ago where we finally were pushed against the boundaries we'd had to set -- for our sake, and for hers, although I'm sure it doesn't feel like that to her. We don't know the outcome of that crisis, and yes, it is cause for ice weasel parties. Her cell phone is not working. We've written a letter to her last address. We believe she will be okay because she is resourceful, street-smart, and has experience and credentials to find a decent job. But not knowing is hard. We love her too. We believe she knows that deep down. And we believe she will call us when she is on her feet.

The third is the one that has me completely at a loss to understand what is going on. She is a beautiful, competent, talented young woman who has owned her own business, bought and fixed up a house, gathered a following of fans for her work. And she's battling depression now, possibly more, and she's not talking to me nor her dad. I found out this weekend that she moved to a new place a few weeks ago and that she is working. But not from her lips. Not from her fingertips via e-mail, or even snail mail. Just silence.

We saw her just about six weeks ago, and while all was not well, it was a wonderful visit, and we talked openly and candidly, and she seemed to miss me as much as I do her. I've talked with her only a few times since, and received an e-mail three weeks ago -- and then nothing. She has removed herself from a very toxic work situation -- yay for her! -- but I have many, many fears -- most of which have only a tenuous foundation. For instance, I wonder if she continued health insurance, and if she's still on meds. And if not, what effect is it having? Where is she working (I know she's working in a restaurant -- but I've only found that out in the last couple of days)? How is she feeling? Does she feel secure with her roommate? Does she have enough to eat? Does she feel secure at ALL? IS SHE OKAY!!!!???

and why. Why, oh why, is she so reluctant to call me and tell me? To talk to me? Or her dad?

So last night the ice weasels had a party. I knew the invitations were out, but I wasn't sure when it would take place. jAnd they partied hearty until -- oh -- I stopped looking at the clock after 2 a.m.

And I realized that while I know how to deal with physical illness or many other life issues, I have no clue what to do with major depression issues, or similar personality disorders. I know enough to know that it varies wildly from person to person, that I mustn't take it personally and that I neither caused it nor can fix it. I don't know whether to give her space and write notes (I don't know if she checks e-mail -- I've been sending those, but also have done snail mail card -- all just supportive generalities), or to call her now that I have her phone, to let her come to me or to go to her, to just show up at her door, or what.

And the ice weasels considered all of those last night, in addition to a whole darker side that I don't want to even consider talking about. They danced around all of it. Made up new angles that I hadn't thought of. Partied hearty until I finally -- finally -- fell asleep.

And I guess that's what I needed to get out, hm.

I'm sure I'm not done with this topic. I have more questions than answers -- and I also have enough sense not to bombard any of them with questions, but to work on patience to allow them to tell me what they need to say at their own pace. So the other lesson here -- AGAIN -- is patience. My never-done, never-completedly-learned life lesson.

*sigh*

May your ice weasels go into hibernation for a very long time.