Today, the day before thanksgiving, I rolled out of bed still smelling of cookies baked last night and a shroud over my entire being. Not feeling the thanks in my Thanksgiving this year. It is indeed frustrating for me who has always been the optimist, the up beat person, the one who is the listening ear for those in troubled times.
Granted I have spent the last 4 months at more doctor's appointments than I would care to discuss with few answers, slow improvement and waring patience. I am not riddled with chronic illness, nor anything terminal which I am grateful for, simply an anomaly that is taking its good old time healing.
My limitations and isolation have lent themselves to watching the world go by and reflecting on my own journey. Successes, failures, Joys, sorrows, a serious reality check on who I am, where I fit in and how I move forward when the doctors all give their stamps of approval to resume my life.
Today, I see the scales tipped. Now, it could be that this people person has been isolated far too long, but then again, the isolation could be a gift to see, very clearly, what my true reality is instead of the picture of what I wish to personify to the world around me. I have yet to determine if this is a gift or a curse.
I could list out all my wrong doings, failures, inadequacies, sorrows, lost dreams & hopes or even my successes and joys. The former a very long list, the latter very short, but will save you, the reader, my tendencies to self loathing and deprecation. I will just say that my burden is heavy and I carry it alone.
Why do I share this about myself? I honestly don't know. Perhaps it is an exercise in cleansing myself so I can find the goodness in my life and the world around me. Perhaps for someone to understand me when I feel no one does or ever could. Yet another unanswered question, but I find that through these musings I can live with that.
So during this season of Thanksgiving as others rejoice and give thanks for so many wonderful things, I work through the burdens of my shroud. Through this experience, today, I can be grateful for life and breath no matter the rest.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Yes, I am powerless...and it is good.
The English language is the most difficult language to learn and filled with words that are beautiful, ugly, harsh, scary, peaceful. There are words with multiple definitions and spellings. Words that aren't even true words. And with the addition of slang, we have nearly a new language in and of itself. I have to laugh when I hear some of the things said today.
One word that I find particularly interesting and one that I absolutely love is the word powerless. Perhaps it is because I have spent 20 years in 12 step programs building a foundation of learning, understanding, hope, resilience and, yes, powerlessness. After a lifetime of constantly striving to control and manipulate things to work according to my will, I find great comfort in the awareness and acceptance that I am truly powerless over people, places and things. Even myself, at times.
Webster defines pow·er·less as (pou r-l s) devoid of strength or resources; lacking the authority or capacity to act. I consider this definition a bit trite. There is so much more to this powerlessness that people fear so desperately. On the surface, powerless can be as Webster states "devoid of strength or resources", but as the layers are gently peeled back there is layer upon layer of immeasurable strength and seeds for opportunities of growth.
Step one of the 12 Steps to Recovery states, "We admitted we were powerless over (_____________)- that our lives had become unmanageable". Wow, that is so freeing. Try it! Fill in the blank. I am a recovering co-dependent, so my blank is filled with names: my mom and her drinking; my dad and his absence; my husband and his smoking; my son and his addictions to gaming, pot, alcohol and bad choices, my other children and their choices. I could also put in that blank: food, crazy drivers on the road, my boss, and so much more. When I humbled myself, surrendered myself to my Heavenly Father, when I gave Him ultimate control, I accepted my powerlessness. In that powerlessness, I found peace, contentment, humility, a true connection with God that I had never experienced before and so much strength. The strength that makes you feel like David when he struck down Goliath the giant. The strength that makes you feel like you can conquer the world.
So to those who run from powerlessness and cling to control and manipulation, I understand, I've been there. But please, I implore you, there is so much more to this life. Rest in the knowing that control can only get you stressed and frustrated with "sun breaks" of peace. Acceptance of our powerlessness brings us prone before our Lord and open to learn and to grow in Him and for Him. With that humbleness and humility we can be our most authentic selves in this world, changing people, places and things along our journey.
One word that I find particularly interesting and one that I absolutely love is the word powerless. Perhaps it is because I have spent 20 years in 12 step programs building a foundation of learning, understanding, hope, resilience and, yes, powerlessness. After a lifetime of constantly striving to control and manipulate things to work according to my will, I find great comfort in the awareness and acceptance that I am truly powerless over people, places and things. Even myself, at times.
Webster defines pow·er·less as (pou r-l s) devoid of strength or resources; lacking the authority or capacity to act. I consider this definition a bit trite. There is so much more to this powerlessness that people fear so desperately. On the surface, powerless can be as Webster states "devoid of strength or resources", but as the layers are gently peeled back there is layer upon layer of immeasurable strength and seeds for opportunities of growth.
Step one of the 12 Steps to Recovery states, "We admitted we were powerless over (_____________)- that our lives had become unmanageable". Wow, that is so freeing. Try it! Fill in the blank. I am a recovering co-dependent, so my blank is filled with names: my mom and her drinking; my dad and his absence; my husband and his smoking; my son and his addictions to gaming, pot, alcohol and bad choices, my other children and their choices. I could also put in that blank: food, crazy drivers on the road, my boss, and so much more. When I humbled myself, surrendered myself to my Heavenly Father, when I gave Him ultimate control, I accepted my powerlessness. In that powerlessness, I found peace, contentment, humility, a true connection with God that I had never experienced before and so much strength. The strength that makes you feel like David when he struck down Goliath the giant. The strength that makes you feel like you can conquer the world.
So to those who run from powerlessness and cling to control and manipulation, I understand, I've been there. But please, I implore you, there is so much more to this life. Rest in the knowing that control can only get you stressed and frustrated with "sun breaks" of peace. Acceptance of our powerlessness brings us prone before our Lord and open to learn and to grow in Him and for Him. With that humbleness and humility we can be our most authentic selves in this world, changing people, places and things along our journey.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
4th of July musings
Taking life one day at a time isn't easy, especially when you are a chronic planner as I am. I have my calenders, my lists and Outlook to keep my life and my family's lives organized and in control. Yes, I even have a giant wipe off calendar on my refrigerator that is color coded for each family member. I have to laugh when I update each month because it is baffling to me as to how and when this transformation occurred? My mother was NEVER like this. She was a myriad of disorganization and tardiness.
The point of this is to say that as I look to my calendars for comfort in keeping life in control, I really have no control over anything really. I plan and execute each day, week and month, yet my heart still aches for the loss of my eldest son. I pick up the blue marker, his favorite color, and sigh. I could throw the blasted thing away, but what is a rainbow or even a calender without blue? These are the choices he has made.
Then the what-ifs start creeping in. What if I had studied more? Understood him more? Listened better? Defended him more? Got angry less? Was less judgmental? What if...all those things and more? Would my behaviors have changed anything? Would he have chosen a different path? A life worth living? I may never know. The trajectory is set and all said and done, well, at least until he decides to change his path. I pray each day that he finds his way back to God, to a life of sobriety and good choices as well as to his family who loves him so.
As holidays approach, I reflect on the sweet memories, ache, grieve and move on. While I used to fight the inevitable, I find myself amidst this "process" that has become so familiar, almost comfortable. I have spent nearly 2 of each holiday without my boy, and each one brings memories of good times, the ache of missing him, and grief, in a myriad of stages. As we approach the 4th of July, I recall my own wonderful childhood memories of picnics at my Grandma's, fireworks over Lake Erie, friends and the festival in Conneaut, OH. I then recall my own children and the fun 4ths we have had watching fireworks, picnicking, bonfires and fun. Ah, how I miss my silly, goofy, fun-loving Chrissy. I ache for him, our talks, his goofy antics, his insight. All gone. I know that if he were to walk in the door today, he would not be the same. He is forever changed by his choices and it is now up to him and God to bring him to life again.
Today, while I rest in my ache, my grief, that I have become so accustomed, I see my beautiful husband and my precious children, laughing and joking with each other. It is with them that I see my life, my love, my future. So, amidst my own fragility, I get out my markers and update the family calendar. "Happy 4th of July", it says in red, white & yes, blue fireworks with all the ache and joy a mother's heart can hold.
The point of this is to say that as I look to my calendars for comfort in keeping life in control, I really have no control over anything really. I plan and execute each day, week and month, yet my heart still aches for the loss of my eldest son. I pick up the blue marker, his favorite color, and sigh. I could throw the blasted thing away, but what is a rainbow or even a calender without blue? These are the choices he has made.
Then the what-ifs start creeping in. What if I had studied more? Understood him more? Listened better? Defended him more? Got angry less? Was less judgmental? What if...all those things and more? Would my behaviors have changed anything? Would he have chosen a different path? A life worth living? I may never know. The trajectory is set and all said and done, well, at least until he decides to change his path. I pray each day that he finds his way back to God, to a life of sobriety and good choices as well as to his family who loves him so.
As holidays approach, I reflect on the sweet memories, ache, grieve and move on. While I used to fight the inevitable, I find myself amidst this "process" that has become so familiar, almost comfortable. I have spent nearly 2 of each holiday without my boy, and each one brings memories of good times, the ache of missing him, and grief, in a myriad of stages. As we approach the 4th of July, I recall my own wonderful childhood memories of picnics at my Grandma's, fireworks over Lake Erie, friends and the festival in Conneaut, OH. I then recall my own children and the fun 4ths we have had watching fireworks, picnicking, bonfires and fun. Ah, how I miss my silly, goofy, fun-loving Chrissy. I ache for him, our talks, his goofy antics, his insight. All gone. I know that if he were to walk in the door today, he would not be the same. He is forever changed by his choices and it is now up to him and God to bring him to life again.
Today, while I rest in my ache, my grief, that I have become so accustomed, I see my beautiful husband and my precious children, laughing and joking with each other. It is with them that I see my life, my love, my future. So, amidst my own fragility, I get out my markers and update the family calendar. "Happy 4th of July", it says in red, white & yes, blue fireworks with all the ache and joy a mother's heart can hold.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Can I call him Dad?
I have been musing over the last 24 hours on something a young boy about the age of 6 said recently. His mom is a young widow who has met and, dare I say, fallen in love with a wonderful man from a far distance. They are desperately working to bring their lives together...in the name of love. This sweet child says of mom's partner, "Can I call him Dad?'Mom says, "You already have a Dad." Boy responds, "My real dad is Daddy. Charlie (name changed to protect the innocent) can be Dad." With tears streaming down my face, my heart went out to this precious child who loves his Daddy, but has so much love in his heart to be able to love a Dad. So many lose a dad or feel the absence of a father figure that there are holes left in their hearts, in their very beings that only a father can fill and just as with any broken heart some choose to love again and some do not. What a beautiful example of the purity of a child's heart. The wisdom in this young soul to know that he has the choice to love his Daddy and to love mom's partner as Dad is overwhelming. Oh that we could all know and accept that each of us has the choice to love again, to grow through and beyond our hurts just as this young child has.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
The Battle
Here it comes again, that dark cloak of sadness. I am vulnerable. June gloom has arrived and with it the world has turned grey. The ever increasing momentum of the end of school year has very late homework sessions with Nick to rebound from missing an entire week of school due to illness. The sleepless nights of, "I know I am forgetting something" and worrying about everything. The stress of learning a new job and all the mom/wife responsibilities to tend to. All is grey and numb. I continue on through the motions of life.
At the root of it, I know that June gloom does not fair well with my mood; late nights and little sleep do not aid in clarity, focus and mood, but mostly, it is the cloak of sadness, grief creeping in wishing to consume me that causes me to pause. Reflecting on this thought, as I am a believer in all things good and evil, I determine that Satan and God are in a battle over me, my soul and my family and it is absolutely exhausting. While I have been a believer all my life, I have vacillated from lukewarm to on fire more times than I would like to admit. I am not ashamed of this and I have certainly paid the consequences of those choices time and again. The transformation that has occurred in my spiritual life and the spiritual lives of my family is overwhelming. This reigniting of our commitment to God and to our family has brought such comfort and joy, but also much strife. We have been faced with obstacle upon obstacle and am proud to say that we are staying the course and moving forward.
Then there is grief. That rascal that keeps creeping in when we least expect him. He is not invited, though I allow him to stay. Why fight the inevitable? I allow him in, he shows me things invoking strong emotional reactions. I shed buckets of tears when I thought I had none left to shed. He takes me back in time to feel old feelings of bittersweet love, loss and grief. My daughters, whom I never held in my arms, my college sweetheart taken from me and the world too soon, my innocence stolen, the birth of my precious sons, the diagnosis of Asperger's, the downward spiral and loss of my eldest son to a world of drugs and alcohol, the loss of a dream for my eldest to drive, to be a positive role model for his brothers, to get a job, to graduate high school, to go to college....all lost to him at the moment. Grief, he is cunning. He takes me on a roller coaster ride to nowhere leaving me to find my way back. Back to reality, to sanity and to piece back together what is left of me. Then I walk around almost comfortably numb until he visits again. But God, he is fighting with me and for me. Together, eventually we will win and I will be free.
At the root of it, I know that June gloom does not fair well with my mood; late nights and little sleep do not aid in clarity, focus and mood, but mostly, it is the cloak of sadness, grief creeping in wishing to consume me that causes me to pause. Reflecting on this thought, as I am a believer in all things good and evil, I determine that Satan and God are in a battle over me, my soul and my family and it is absolutely exhausting. While I have been a believer all my life, I have vacillated from lukewarm to on fire more times than I would like to admit. I am not ashamed of this and I have certainly paid the consequences of those choices time and again. The transformation that has occurred in my spiritual life and the spiritual lives of my family is overwhelming. This reigniting of our commitment to God and to our family has brought such comfort and joy, but also much strife. We have been faced with obstacle upon obstacle and am proud to say that we are staying the course and moving forward.
Then there is grief. That rascal that keeps creeping in when we least expect him. He is not invited, though I allow him to stay. Why fight the inevitable? I allow him in, he shows me things invoking strong emotional reactions. I shed buckets of tears when I thought I had none left to shed. He takes me back in time to feel old feelings of bittersweet love, loss and grief. My daughters, whom I never held in my arms, my college sweetheart taken from me and the world too soon, my innocence stolen, the birth of my precious sons, the diagnosis of Asperger's, the downward spiral and loss of my eldest son to a world of drugs and alcohol, the loss of a dream for my eldest to drive, to be a positive role model for his brothers, to get a job, to graduate high school, to go to college....all lost to him at the moment. Grief, he is cunning. He takes me on a roller coaster ride to nowhere leaving me to find my way back. Back to reality, to sanity and to piece back together what is left of me. Then I walk around almost comfortably numb until he visits again. But God, he is fighting with me and for me. Together, eventually we will win and I will be free.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Thursday is Not Just Another Day
Thursdays are not just a day in the week for me! They are what keep the air in my lungs, the joy in my heart and the laughter in my spirit. Why? Well, it is the night where I am free to spend time with me, with God and with 4 amazing women.
At 5:00 I drop my youngest off at karate and I do not go home, do not pass go or collect $200. I find a park or parking lot and spend the next hour or so, praying, reading, reflecting, listening to music or just playing on facebook. By 6:20 I am en-route to my friend and now sister Lindsay's house. What was coined originally as a Bible study group has been so much more for me. It has truly been a life-changing group of women experiencing grief, loss, joy, laughter and most of all growth.
We started as a group of strangers that thought the book "Changes that Heal" might be helpful in managing our lives today and perhaps make an acquaintance or 2. I had no idea what God had in store for me personally. In going through the first few chapters of the book, I was taken to my knees emotionally as I peeled down to the core of myself and examined why and how my lack of bonding in the early years has affected everything in my life. Every choice, every action, every feeling....everything. While I had been taken to my knees, I remained reserved and quiet, guarded even. How could I trust these women with me? The good, the bad and the very ugly! They couldn't possible like me if they knew the real me...the ugly insides I share with no one except my husband.
The complete vulnerability and honesty of another woman in the group and the reactions of the others toward her, my shell of protection shattered. As a result of her action(s) I was freed from the bondage of fear. I finally began sharing and eventually growing. It has seemed an eternity of walking through the driest of deserts like a war refugee with emotions raw and exposed. I truly never thought I would come out the other side. At times, I have thought that maybe I even deserved to be in constant pain. No, God has never forsaken me. He has carried me through the desert and today I have the most loving and beautiful friends and sisters I could have imagined. They have prayed for me and carried my burdens as I have worked through the pains of my past, the pains and struggles of my present and the worries of the future. They are surely my strength when I am weak.
After my Thursday night with the girls, usually ending around 10:00pm, I am physically and emotionally spent, so melancholy regarding my wayward son creeps in. When I feel strong, I allow that emotion to come forward. The grief is usually not overwhelming any longer, so I casually look for him on the streets of Bend as I drive home. Allowing myself to pray for him. I can do this only because God and my girls keep me strong. I wrap up my prayers as I pull into the drive, go inside and go to bed. I sleep soundly.
So God has this amazing plan that I could never have imagined. The intricacies of the things we have in common and the immeasurable growth that is occurring in each of us is breathtakingly beautiful. So much that I can no longer imagine life any differently. So Thursdays are not just another day for me. They mean healing, growth, love and so much more!
I love Thursdays!
At 5:00 I drop my youngest off at karate and I do not go home, do not pass go or collect $200. I find a park or parking lot and spend the next hour or so, praying, reading, reflecting, listening to music or just playing on facebook. By 6:20 I am en-route to my friend and now sister Lindsay's house. What was coined originally as a Bible study group has been so much more for me. It has truly been a life-changing group of women experiencing grief, loss, joy, laughter and most of all growth.
We started as a group of strangers that thought the book "Changes that Heal" might be helpful in managing our lives today and perhaps make an acquaintance or 2. I had no idea what God had in store for me personally. In going through the first few chapters of the book, I was taken to my knees emotionally as I peeled down to the core of myself and examined why and how my lack of bonding in the early years has affected everything in my life. Every choice, every action, every feeling....everything. While I had been taken to my knees, I remained reserved and quiet, guarded even. How could I trust these women with me? The good, the bad and the very ugly! They couldn't possible like me if they knew the real me...the ugly insides I share with no one except my husband.
The complete vulnerability and honesty of another woman in the group and the reactions of the others toward her, my shell of protection shattered. As a result of her action(s) I was freed from the bondage of fear. I finally began sharing and eventually growing. It has seemed an eternity of walking through the driest of deserts like a war refugee with emotions raw and exposed. I truly never thought I would come out the other side. At times, I have thought that maybe I even deserved to be in constant pain. No, God has never forsaken me. He has carried me through the desert and today I have the most loving and beautiful friends and sisters I could have imagined. They have prayed for me and carried my burdens as I have worked through the pains of my past, the pains and struggles of my present and the worries of the future. They are surely my strength when I am weak.
After my Thursday night with the girls, usually ending around 10:00pm, I am physically and emotionally spent, so melancholy regarding my wayward son creeps in. When I feel strong, I allow that emotion to come forward. The grief is usually not overwhelming any longer, so I casually look for him on the streets of Bend as I drive home. Allowing myself to pray for him. I can do this only because God and my girls keep me strong. I wrap up my prayers as I pull into the drive, go inside and go to bed. I sleep soundly.
So God has this amazing plan that I could never have imagined. The intricacies of the things we have in common and the immeasurable growth that is occurring in each of us is breathtakingly beautiful. So much that I can no longer imagine life any differently. So Thursdays are not just another day for me. They mean healing, growth, love and so much more!
I love Thursdays!
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Out of the pot before it boils
I look back at when I began this blog and see that it has been 9 months since I started the blog and posted. Consistency has never been my strong suit. It is all about grace for me today.
9 months later, my eldest son has lapsed into a world of alcohol and drugs with our entire family nearly lost from the grief and the insanity of it all. If I could just...then he would have. The life of a family dealing with a member who has an addiction of any sort, be it video games, gambling, sex, substance abuse, love, or whatever is in constant flux. Somewhat like trying to stand completely still while knee deep in the ocean with 15 foot waves crashing into and around you. Yep, that would be impossible. You get knocked over, sucked under and fighting to find the surface to gasp for just one breath of air. That has been our life for the last 2 years. Not too terrible in the beginning, of course, but what we have experienced reminds me of the scientific experiment where you have 2 pots of water on the stove and 2 frogs. Boil one pot of water, add frog, frog jumps out. In pot 2 put frog in, boil water and frog never notices that he is being cooked. We were being cooked.
When do you let go of a child you love so deeply? Have protected and cared for? How do you let them go when you can see the trajectory of their choices? In our case, it was out by his choice, then home and out by our choice with not option of returning without some serious sobriety under his belt. Did I like this? No Did I want to leave my son on the doorstep of a shelter at almost 18? God no! But what is one to do when the child is spiraling downward, won't accept help or try to help themselves? What does a mother do when she sees her other boys either disappearing into a dark world of depression or acting out in anger? When hundred's of dollars go missing? For me, my hand was forced. I had to choose between the one who has given up on life and the 2 who haven't had a chance yet to live. I pray that I am the last mother who has to make a choice such as this as I am still trying to find the pieces of my heart that was torn to shreds that awful day in December.
The redeeming part of all this is that God had it all planned long before I was ever involved. While my precious son is still out there figuring out life on his terms, my other sons are coming home. The depression is ceasing and we are seeing some smirks and smiles again from our middle son and our little one is having many more good days than bad at school. God has blessed me with an incredible support network through our church and community. While I have not been saved from the judgement and ridicule of those who could never understand until they have walked in my shoes, it is with the strength of my God and my loving friends and support that we no longer walk as refugees from our own grief and experience. I have been carried through the driest of deserts and though I do have my moments where grief creeps in I have found and am secure in the deep abiding love of God and friendship that I am so blessed to have. So for this evening.....It is well, with my soul.
9 months later, my eldest son has lapsed into a world of alcohol and drugs with our entire family nearly lost from the grief and the insanity of it all. If I could just...then he would have. The life of a family dealing with a member who has an addiction of any sort, be it video games, gambling, sex, substance abuse, love, or whatever is in constant flux. Somewhat like trying to stand completely still while knee deep in the ocean with 15 foot waves crashing into and around you. Yep, that would be impossible. You get knocked over, sucked under and fighting to find the surface to gasp for just one breath of air. That has been our life for the last 2 years. Not too terrible in the beginning, of course, but what we have experienced reminds me of the scientific experiment where you have 2 pots of water on the stove and 2 frogs. Boil one pot of water, add frog, frog jumps out. In pot 2 put frog in, boil water and frog never notices that he is being cooked. We were being cooked.
When do you let go of a child you love so deeply? Have protected and cared for? How do you let them go when you can see the trajectory of their choices? In our case, it was out by his choice, then home and out by our choice with not option of returning without some serious sobriety under his belt. Did I like this? No Did I want to leave my son on the doorstep of a shelter at almost 18? God no! But what is one to do when the child is spiraling downward, won't accept help or try to help themselves? What does a mother do when she sees her other boys either disappearing into a dark world of depression or acting out in anger? When hundred's of dollars go missing? For me, my hand was forced. I had to choose between the one who has given up on life and the 2 who haven't had a chance yet to live. I pray that I am the last mother who has to make a choice such as this as I am still trying to find the pieces of my heart that was torn to shreds that awful day in December.
The redeeming part of all this is that God had it all planned long before I was ever involved. While my precious son is still out there figuring out life on his terms, my other sons are coming home. The depression is ceasing and we are seeing some smirks and smiles again from our middle son and our little one is having many more good days than bad at school. God has blessed me with an incredible support network through our church and community. While I have not been saved from the judgement and ridicule of those who could never understand until they have walked in my shoes, it is with the strength of my God and my loving friends and support that we no longer walk as refugees from our own grief and experience. I have been carried through the driest of deserts and though I do have my moments where grief creeps in I have found and am secure in the deep abiding love of God and friendship that I am so blessed to have. So for this evening.....It is well, with my soul.
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