Bittersweet

This week, one of the boys (young men) I work with graduated from our program. He is probably one of my favorites (yes, I know I shouldn't have favorites). I have very mixed feelings about this. This is how it is supposed to work. Very troubled young men come to our program (usually by way of a court order). We provide counseling, training, mentoring and lots of supervision, they progress and then they leave us to go on to bigger and better things. That is not how it always works, some of these boys (they are young enough to be my sons, they are boys) will never acquire enough skills or self-control to move on. They are manipulative, they are lazy, they have mental health issues going on, they are very angry young men. Others will leave and then mess up and return to us. Some will learn what they need to learn and will be okay.

This particular young man calls me drill sarge, he has tested me time and time again. He has threatened me, cursed at me, confessed to me and tried to shock me. He is Eddie Haskell, but more sincere. He hates the program, but he knows that I care. He pushes and I push back. He is an extremely talented person. Lately, he has done really well, he has tapped into his talents. He has dared to dream and to form a plan to achieve it. He also has very little support network outside of our program. I hope he can hold it together, I hope he can keep his focus. I hope he keeps in touch. I hope he makes it.

I know I am Mom to many of these young men. I don't encourage it, but I know it can't be helped. Most of them need a mom. All of them need someone to believe in them, but also hold them accountable. Some of them I am quite fond of, some of them I think are punks. I try to put my personal feelings aside, I act professionally, I try to be fair. I also know that fair is not necessarily everyone getting the same thing, but everyone getting what they need. Sometimes though, I do feel like Mom. I feel that way, when they bring in torn clothes and ask me to sew them. I feel that way, when they expect me to bake them a birthday cake. I feel that way, when I call them on the carpet and they answer, "yes ma am." I have also felt that way after they are gone, when they have moved on. Yet, they call from a hospital bed after emergency surgery, or when their brother dies in an accident, or when they just show up and ask me if I would still sew something up for them.

Today, I wanted to tell my Eddie Haskell, don't forget to call me and let me know you are okay. I wanted to tell him not to forget that I cared about him. What I said was, "Good luck, stay out of trouble and don't let me see you back here." He said, "I'll see you around, Drill Sarge."

Finding my way back to gratitude

It has been almost a month since I posted anything on either blog. Things have not been bad, but I have been indifferent. Many days, my life has been a mere existence. I have been tired, going through the motions of everything I have to do. Time has been speeding past, minutes turning into hours, turning into days and weeks, with little being accomplished or even appreciated at times. I operate on auto-pilot, telling myself I will do this or that after this or that occurs. You know...I will _____, when I have more time, more money, more energy...when the weather is warmer or drier. Anyway, you get the idea. The problem with this 'treading water' type of existence is that I have lost my gratitude. Without realizing it, I stopped influencing my surroundings and let them influence me.

We all make a choice regarding our happiness. We make choices to use or to neglect our potential and our resources. I have been neglecting mine. Every day, we have the opportunity for joy. Our actions and our words can affirm and build up (both ourselves and others) or they can chastise and tear down. We can be proactive or we can be reactive. Today, I have chosen to be proactively joyful. Actually, I didn't really choose this, I encountered some things which shook me awake. I was pulled from my complacency and my slumber into a place of gratitude. I became recommitted to living and living well. I am grateful for all of the small things which I take for granted. I am grateful for all of my friends and family, even when they are demanding and annoying, for they provide me an outlet for my love and they trust me enough to be demanding and annoying. I am grateful for my aches and pains, they are not debilitating or terminal and I am alive and breathing. I am grateful for the the demands of my job, they show I am needed, I serve a purpose, I have stable employment in these times of economic turmoil. I am grateful for my home, I am blessed to have a comfortable dwelling to reside in. I am grateful that I have the ability to care for myself and others, that I am able to cook and clean and work. I am grateful for my mind, for my ability to think and process and conclude certain truths (at least as I see them). I am grateful for the food we have in our home, that I can feed myself and my family and even the pets. I am grateful for the messes I have to clean up, for it means that life goes on in this house and I am physically able to deal with it.

I can dwell on the lack in my life or on the abundance. I can speak of my complaints or of my blessings. My attitude and my focus determines my outcomes. I can live peacefully or in turmoil. My words and my actions determine not only my mood, but also my results.

These are some of the things that have blessed me today and directed me towards gratitude:

A Holy Experience
Her words touch me and sooth me. Even if you do not embrace her beliefs, her loving and gentle spirit is apparent in her messages.

NieNie
She was also recently on Oprah, watch the clip here.

The dogs were surrounding a spot in the grass this morning, they were all alarmed and barking. I went out to see what the commotion was about and found this (image found on Google, but this is exactly what it looked like)

It was very humorous to me to see my three dogs (ranging from 45 to 100 pounds) being so intimidated by a crawfish that was less than three inches long.

The sun is out and it is the weekend. I am feeling well. I will see J in a few days. I cleaned up a huge mess in the kitchen this morning, because my son cooked an excellent dinner for me last night. I am listening to beautiful music that makes my soul soar. My gratitude and joy have chased away those unwelcome squatters that are fear and anxiety. I danced with the dogs while cleaning the kitchen (both my grandchildren and dogs love dancing with me...yes, we are silly).

Hope and Change...Part 2

If you read here, you already know that I voted for Barack Obama. Obviously, many people did...he is the President you know. Since he has been in office, he has been fiercely criticized. What people forget is that he faces the insurmountable task of getting the country back on track. He has been criticized for spending too much, for reneging on campaign promises, for being a Socialist (not a bad thing in my view). Then there are those who question his citizenship, who question his motives, who question his loyalties. The attacks on him used to bother me, I thought people should give him a chance, I thought they should be more supportive. I am rethinking that, not because I no longer support him, but because at least people are talking. People are engaged. Love him or hate him, people are listening, they are debating, they are (seemingly) caring about what is happening in the country. He inspires people to take a stand (whether for or against him). He inspires people to passion. He is good looking, he is well spoken, he is intelligent (yea for intelligence in the White House!). So, whether you think he is Satan or Jesus, I think it is wonderful to have a smart, witty, and entertaining President.

In case you have forgotten how far we have come...



And how very cool is it that our President appeared on David Letterman (another smart, funny and sometimes controversial man)?



So, I encourage everyone to keep talking, keep debating, keep listening, keep caring. Take action, protest, write letters, make phone calls. Wherever you stand on the issues, just keep taking a stand. Keep being inspired and appreciate that our President is exciting.

Hope and Change

It is a rainy fall day here. The house smells faintly of wet dog and play-doh. Soon it will smell much better, I am about to start on the Bolognese sauce for dinner. I'm not sure where summer went. The grandkids are back in school, the dogs are once again obsessed with their quest to rid the world of squirrels, rainy days mean mud-tracked floors and dirt. One of my lost boys from the past, is now back in my home for the time being. I suppose everyone needs a refuge they can return to when life becomes too hard. My last post was over a month ago, it is not from a lack of thoughts, I'm just not sure I have anything worthwhile to say or that I have too much to say to condense into a manageable read. So I will resort to a rambling, disjointed myriad of what is on my mind.

The recent months have produced a list of celebrity deaths. My last post was about Ethyl Kennedy, shortly after we lost her brother Ted. Patrick Swayze succumbed to the cancer he valiantly fought. Mary Travers lost her battle as well (a much less publicized battle). I know there have been others, but these most readily come to mind. It makes me reflect on the gifts they left us. Not just the gifts they gave us in life, but the gifts of their deaths. Ted and Patrick are foremost in my mind. They faced and dealt with dying (and living with impending death) in the public eye. They did so with courage and grace. I hope that I can be half as dignified when I face my own demise. They embraced the life they had left, they refused to slip quietly into the night, they fought bravely and they accepted their fate. It gives me pause in this hurried and harried life. It makes me thankful for what I have and accepting of what I do not. It makes me reach out to family and friends. For whatever we have (and do not have) today, can all change in the blink of an eye.

I have been feeling very domestic lately. I have been in a nesting mode. I have also been evaluating the things that I want to accomplish. I few years ago, I felt I had plenty of time. Now time seems to be speeding along at warp speed. My goals haven't changed, but some things have happened that changed my path. I was supposed to finish my degree this past spring. The lack of transportation and available funds delayed that. I am now on plan B. I haven't abandoned that goal, but I have had to change boats in midstream. I know it will happen, I'm just not sure when. Occasionally, I feel a twinge of regret and resentment over the circumstances that have curtailed my plans. Then I acknowledge that I am not in control, that I will have to work within the happenings of the Universe. Overall, I am content. The lack in my life has made me appreciate what I do have. It has afforded me empathy and has made me resilient. I see my sons learning this same lesson, not as patiently and accepting as I have been, but they are learning. My whole life has been about change and having to drop back and punt. I am glad that things haven't been easy. I would not be grateful for easy.

In all of this, I have hope. I hope for a better world for my grandchildren. I hope for a life of continued learning. I hope for equality and fairness for those who have been denied it. I hope that people will be able to look beyond their own circumstance and problems and know the truth. I hope that the leaders of the country will put aside their differences and join together for the good of their constituents. I hope that people of all belief systems will be able to embrace the love and compassion that is the basis of most of those belief systems. For being a realist, I am also a hopeless romantic.







The more things change, the more they stay the same.

We lost a hero today

Eunice Kennedy Shriver died today. It was not unexpected, it has been reported that she was in the hospital and the family had been summoned. We tend to hear a lot about the Kennedy men, but not so much about the women. I do know a bit about Eunice Shriver. I work with adults with developmental disabilities, she was a champion for them.

I hold great respect and admiration for her. The world has truly lost a hero today. She worked her entire life to ensure equal opportunities and experiences for handicapped individuals. She was the first of the Kennedys to speak openly about her sister Rosemary. She used her influence with John to establish a research center for the mentally handicapped. She was a social worker. She worked for the government, helping prisoners of war readjust to civilian life. She founded the Special Olympics and worked to obtain treatment and opportunities for special needs children all over the world. She never stopped working for the causes she believed in. She was an exceptional woman.

Responsible

I am tired, tired of being responsible. Responsible for myself, responsible at work, responsible for my adult children, responsible for everything. I am angry at myself, I forgot to do some things today. I forgot to pay a bill, I will do it tomorrow, but it will cost more. I have done this to myself, I have put myself in this position. I have tried to pull away, to say "it's your deal, not my problem," but I can't. Ultimately, I let it all be my problem, I feel there is too much at stake. Some times, I wish I could just not give a fuck, but I can't, I guess it just isn't who I am. I want to be irresponsible, I want to let everything lay where it falls. But I can't, and picking up the pieces is harder than holding it all together.

I still miss him

Yesterday was Father's Day. I let it pass with little thought, there are no fathers in this house. My own father has been gone for seven years, it is now just another day, nothing to celebrate. Today, I was reading blogs, I read this on Selkie's blog. After I read it I cried, no sobbed. With impeccable timing, J called me in the midst of my little jag. He offered me comfort, his presence. He let me cry and he made me laugh. He made me realize that maybe now, seven years later, it is time to allow myself to cry and grieve, I certainly didn't allow it at the time.

My father and I had a rather tumultuous relationship at times, especially during those years of my teenage angst. I never appreciated him when I was young. There were times I resented him, even hated him, though he did nothing to garner my wrath. I saw him as being closed minded, stubborn, opinionated, pious. While he may have been many of those things, he was never pious. In fact, my father was a really good man, I just never knew that until I had met men that showed me how bad men could be.

My father was an engineer, he was smart, logical, methodical. Though, when it came to relationships he struggled. He struggled the most with our relationship. I was his antithesis. I followed my heart and not my head, I broke rules, I was a dreamer, I was unreasonable. Yet, I was very much his daughter, just as stubborn and opinionated as he was. He didn't understand me, but he always loved me. Looking back, I can see that my father also struggled with his sense of worth. He saw things in black and white, so all of those gray areas in his life, he saw as failure. I was probably his biggest gray area, I am sure he thought he had failed me.

I did not develop an appreciation of him until I was dealing with my own rebellious children and trying to cope as a single mom. He didn't interfere, but he made sure we never did without. Florida to Ohio was a long way, but when they visited he took care of things. Always practical, he bought us things like shoes, tools, cleaning supplies, oil for the car. When my home was in disrepair, he instructed me how to fix things, or sometimes he sent a check. I remember long distance phone tutorials on how to change water heater elements, how to put in a new electrical plug, how to unclog a disposal. Every summer we would drive to see them. I never had the money to stop at a hotel, so I would drive straight through. It was a long (13 hours) but doable trip. My father would always slip me money, just in case, enough for a room on the way home if I became too tired.

I remember Mom's call, seven years ago. Dad was in surgery, his cancer had spread, his kidneys shut down, he could die. He didn't die, he was a fighter. He called that week, to tell me he was okay and not to worry. He also gently hinted that he might only have a few months. I didn't want to believe it, I argued (a common thread in our relationship even then). "The doctors said this wouldn't kill you, they said that you would beat it." I told him I was coming, that week, I needed to see him. That marked the beginning of bi-weekly trips to Florida.

Driving Thursday or Friday to get there and driving Sunday or Monday to get home. I sat with him through meetings with Hospice, filling out the paperwork, including a DNR order. I sat with him at his computer, as he got his affairs and finances in order, watching it take hours for him to do what used to take minutes. I listened to him tell me what songs he wanted at his funeral. He admonished me to take care of Mom. I cooked for him, anything he wanted, while Mom would tell me I was wasting my time, because "he won't eat it anyway." The few bites he would take were my reward. I watched his weight dwindle and his step stumble. He still insisted on getting dressed when his clothes hung on him. My mother chastised him for not just wearing his pajamas. I went to Goodwill and bought him pants, several sizes and different styles, then I slipped them into another bag, because I knew he would never wear anything from Goodwill. I dutifully did chores he could no longer manage; "trim that tree back, it's hanging over the pool, sweep the pine straws off the driveway before they stain it."

Watching this slow demise, cast a light on my parent's relationship. I saw my father, devoted and adoring as ever to my mother. I saw my mother, resentful, angry, passive-aggressive. I realized that she was my ally in my teen years, because I expressed the anger that she felt toward him. I realized that I had always taken my father for granted, in part, because she always had. I cannot blame our conflicts on my mother, but in those final months, I strove to be his perfect daughter. I processed the truth of this new reality as I watched the disease ravage his body.

One day I called, to talk to my father, a daily routine, when I could not be with him. My sister answered and curtly told me, "we can't talk to you now, Dad just died." That was it, it was over. I was empty, a part of me was gone. I couldn't cry. I could hear him telling me, "be strong for your mother." I was glad that he never glimpsed the reality that I saw. That was seven years ago, I am no longer alone, I no longer have to be strong, I think it is time to grieve.

and on I read
until the day was gone
and I sat in regret
of all the things I've done
for all that I've blessed
and all that I've wronged
in dreams until my death
I will wander on
~Like a Stone - Audioslave